


Pain of Tenderness

by lori (zakhad)



Series: Captain and Counselor, the revised versions [8]
Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-10
Updated: 2019-01-29
Packaged: 2019-10-07 15:19:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 41,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17368385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zakhad/pseuds/lori
Summary: I couldn't merely edit this one. Major revisions and replacements for it.This should have been the one that set the bar, when the captain figured out what he was up against. Of course, at the time the original was written, I had no idea there would be a series so long and winding, so no way to predict what foreshadowing needed to happen.





	1. Chapter 1

Jean-Luc paced around his quarters and tried not to — it was impossible to stop. He was frustrated with his lack of self control. This would be the first time he'd seen Beverly since she had departed for another posting. Finding the _Valiant_ at their latest port of call had been an opportunity to mend a friendship in person. He couldn't let the chance pass him by. He was done with losing friends to his own discomfort with such confrontations.

He hurried back from a far corner at the sound of the annunciator and took a deep breath, exhaled noisily, and said, “Come.”

When the doors opened, Beverly walked in smiling. She didn’t immediately close the distance between them, however, but hesitated as the door closed behind her, smiling at him. She had her hair pulled back from her face in a large clip and of course wore the uniform.

“Hello, Jean-Luc.”

“Hello,” he said, taking the few steps to reach out — he took her hands, then let go to hug her carefully, then stepped back and gestured at the couch. “Would you like something to drink?”

“Yes, please. I’m so glad you contacted me. It’s good to see you,” she said.

He went to the replicator for a tea service. When he returned, she was sitting on his couch as if she’d never left the _Enterprise_. Hands in her lap, smiling up at him. He placed the tray on the table and went around it to sit down — smiled, and reached for the pot.

“It’s good to see you as well. How are you liking the _Valiant_?”

She waved a hand dismissively. “Sickbay is sickbay. I have a good staff. How is everything here?”

He wanted to get to the point, but found himself conforming to polite chitchat — he couldn’t do it. Perhaps after a few minutes of settling he could broach the subject of Deanna. “It’s been going very well. We have cadets aboard now. We’ve been given some fairly tedious assignments, but perhaps it will be interesting again soon.”

Beverly sighed audibly and held her tea cup in front of her. She looked down at her tea. “I’m sorry,” she said faintly.

“I’m glad you were willing to talk to me,” he said, trying to rally to the cause. “I don’t want what happened to drive us apart. I’d like to move forward as friends.”

“Yes,” she blurted, her shoulders relaxing as she leaned forward a little. “Yes.”

“Although it makes it difficult that you’re on another ship. And — “ He couldn’t do it.

“Is Deanna still aboard?” she asked, probably attempting to make it easier for him, changing the subject. “I sent messages to her, got some responses, but the last one I sent hasn’t gotten a response. Is she all right?”

“She’s aboard. I hope you have the chance to spend time with her before we leave the starbase. She’s missed you.”

Beverly was about to sip tea, and her eyes went wide. “Missed me?”

“Well, yes. She seemed to be lonely after you’d gone. I saw her moping in Ten Forward.” It was an awkward attempt at backtracking, and he chastised himself internally for doing it instead of simply telling her about his relationship with Deanna, explaining how he had come to know how Deanna felt about the situation.

“Oh.” Beverly seemed speechless.

“It’s been difficult,” Jean-Luc said, gesturing with his right hand. “After Will left things changed. After you left, more changed. I know things will never be the same. I’ve always known that some of you would move on to other postings but I did not predict how much I would miss you.”

She said nothing, and when he looked he saw that she was staring at something. Before he could look, she pointed. “Isn’t that Deanna’s?”

Of course, letting Deanna move her things into the living room would lead to this. He hadn’t even thought about it. She’d noticed the picture of Deanna and her mother on the shelf behind the desk.

“Yes,” he said breathlessly.

Now Beverly had put down her cup and started to really look around the room. Her eyes lingered on a bouquet of flowers on an end table. “Jean-Luc?”

He watched her and waited for her to get there without his help. Tried not to be frozen, anticipating her reaction -- he slowly sipped his cooling tea, hoping.

“Either there’s been one of those strange transporter accidents, or she’s moved in with you. I can’t think of why else some of these things are here,” she exclaimed. She turned from scrutinizing the picture on the wall to stare at him in bemusement. The painting had been in Deanna’s quarters before.

“I suppose she must have moved in. The transporter is fine.”

Beverly laughed and started to shake her head. “My god, Jean-Luc! You horrible man! Why didn’t you just say?”

He shrugged sheepishly.

“Where is she?” Beverly actually sounded excited about it.

“I’m not entirely sure. With a client most likely. Her work doesn’t stop when we’re at a starbase after all.”

Beverly had moved from surprise to amusement rapidly; she drank her tea, reached for the pot to pour herself more, and went back to smiling at him. “How long?”

“What do you mean?”

“How long have you been together?” she cried impatiently.

He huffed, drank tea, and wished he hadn’t asked to speak to her one on one. Deanna had left to give him privacy for the conversation but he hadn’t anticipated that Beverly would react with such glee. “A few months.”

“I knew she was mooning after someone,” Beverly said. “I knew it! She wasn’t herself after Will left, true enough, but I could tell that it wasn’t about Will.”

“Beverly….” He wondered if he really focused if Deanna might be able to tell he wanted to be rescued.

“So you — but what about — “ She stared at him as she thought about whatever it was she found so concerning. “What about counseling?” He had the distinct impression that was not what she had intended to say.

“I will see Counselor Davidson, if it’s needed.”

Beverly regarded him soberly, but before she could comment on that the door opened. Deanna came in and slowly walked over to survey the situation. She was in her uniform and her hair was gathered in a severe knot on the back of her head. “Beverly,” she said with tentative happiness.

The doctor stood up, setting aside her cup, and went to hug her friend. “I’m so happy for you,” Beverly said warmly. She held her friend at arm’s length and smiled.

Deanna beamed at her. “Welcome home. We’ve all missed you so much.”

“I’ve missed our chats and the poker games,” Beverly said as they sat down. Deanna moved to sit on the other side of Jean-Luc. He tensed, but she didn’t touch him, folding her hands in her lap.

“And our salon trips — I’m so glad we were able to see you, Beverly.”

“Maybe we can go to the salon on the station if there’s time — or get a poker game going, I hope Data is still aboard?” She reached for the tea pot and glanced at Deanna. “Would you like a cup?”

“No, thank you.” Deanna turned to Jean-Luc with a smile. “What do you think? Do you have time for poker?”

“We could make time. There are no official meetings on the schedule, we’re taking some time here to give people some leave after dropping off Admiral Messing. Transferring a few personnel - nothing that requires my direct attention.”

“Is the _Valiant_ here for a while?” Deanna asked, turning to Beverly again.

“I think we’re leaving tomorrow afternoon. But I like the way you think,” Beverly said, her eyes twinkling.

“Unless you don’t want to spend time with our friends,” Deanna said, turning to Jean-Luc with a sly smile. “There may be some duty you have, that I’m not aware of?”

Jean-Luc found himself torn between a frown and a smile — and he was too aware of Beverly’s amusement. He ended up smiling a little. “No. I think — that is….”

“So if we go to the salon, you’ll invite Geordi and Data in for poker in a couple of hours — perhaps include Carlisle and deLio?” Deanna asked.

“Are you giving me an order?” he asked mildly.

“No, I was asking. But if you prefer I can ask Data to do it.”

Beverly giggled.

“What?” he blurted, unable to refrain.

That led to a roll of her blue eyes. “The nerve of me, being happy for you,” she said.

“That didn’t sound at all like what you were doing.”

“Do you want to play poker, or should we book massages in addition to having our hair and nails done?” Deanna said calmly, though her eyes suggested he was trying her patience.

“Three hours. And I believe I’ll reserve a holodeck.”

“Three hours is enough time for a massage and then some,” Beverly said. “This is going to be fun. I’ll go change out of the uniform and meet you on the station in twenty minutes. As for you, I’ll see you later, with my game face on and ready to play,” she told Jean-Luc. Leaving the cup on the tray, she departed.

Deanna waited for the door to close. “That appeared to go well. Are you all right?”

“Of course,” he said automatically. He put his cup down as well. “I anticipated a different response — she startled me.”

“And you don’t like being laughed at,” Deanna added.

“She’s happy, at least. It’s good to see her happy. A relief.”

Deanna put her hand on his thigh. It brought all his attention to her hand, her touch on his leg, and she smiled merrily. “Jean-Luc.”

“I’m afraid I thought she wouldn’t be, and I find myself… unsettled by her enthusiasm.”

“I could tell. It’s why I came back. Do you want to talk about it?”

He shook his head. “You’re supposed to join her. Perhaps later?”

“All right. I’ll see you later, then.” She didn’t get up though, and didn’t move her hand. She gazed steadily at him with questions in her eyes.

“It’s nothing to worry about,” he said, smiling fondly. “I’m sure I’ll sort myself out by the time you return.”

“Okay.” She returned the smile and kissed him lightly, and rose to head into the bedroom. “I’m going to put something else on.”

By the time he’d recycled the tea service, she returned wearing a happy smile and one of her blue dresses. She’d brushed out her hair then tied it back from her face. He waited as she approached, raising a hand to touch her face as he leaned in to kiss her with more feeling than before.

“You could come to the salon with me,” she murmured. The quirk of her lips said she was joking.

“My hair is fine as it is, but thank you,” he said with a smirk. “I’ll be on the bridge, as there are a few things I should do, and you’ll find us on a holodeck when you return.”

She was still smiling, but she obviously sensed that he continued to be ill at ease; there was a flicker of questioning in her eyes. Turning, she left his quarters.

He exhaled loudly and shook his head. “Old man, you are a glutton for punishment,” he mumbled to himself. He mused over the conversation as he set out for the bridge.

 

* * *

 

  
It took the duration of the walk to the salon for Deanna to decide she wouldn’t try to talk to him about it again. Her awareness of his feelings wasn’t helping her with her own. Jean-Luc's tension about seeing Beverly again had been impossible to ignore, but he seemed to be adjusting. She tried to refocus and managed to be smiling by the time she found Beverly outside the station's salon, a brightly-lit place with an open floor plan and a few customers already in chairs around the room.

Beverly watched her approach with a grin. “You told me there wasn’t anyone,” she chided. She turned to walk with her through the double doors, putting her arm through Deanna’s.

“And I told you the truth.” At the time of the confrontation Beverly had not left the _Enterprise_ and Deanna had been attempting to simply work through and stop feeling as she had for Jean-Luc.

“Technically,” Beverly admitted. “But. Here you are living in the captain’s quarters.”

Deanna forced a smile as the salon staff, a couple of young ladies wearing their hair up and smiles for new customers, approached them.

As their nails were done Beverly chatted with her about changes in her old staff on the _Enterprise,_ asked after Deanna’s mother, and kept everything on surface topics. Massages were taken separately in rooms in the back of the salon, but they were reunited for hairstyling. Deanna watched Beverly’s reflection while their hair was brushed out and trimmed then put up. She felt relaxed and sensed nothing that might send her back to the same level of tense. Perhaps Jean-Luc would be calm again by the time they returned, and she would be able to truly enjoy a game of poker with good friends.

“Are you planning a wedding yet?” Beverly asked, apropos of nothing.

Deanna whipped her head to the right suddenly to stare. “What?!”

“Ma’am, please,” the hairdresser behind Deanna cried. "I don't want to hurt you."

Beverly said nothing more, until their hair was done and they were departing. The corridor outside the salon seemed less busy than before; Deanna followed her friend’s lead as Beverly wandered into the coffee shop next door and found a table apart from the other patrons, in a corner. The waiter left with their requests for coffee.

“So is it going well?” Beverly asked, her hands on the table in front of her.

“Well?”

Beverly was concerned, not smiling. “You and Mr. Picard?”

“It was,” Deanna said with a sigh. “I suppose. Yes.” Having Beverly here had brought up a lot of anxiety, especially after the fiasco with Will.

“Was?”

“I find myself wondering at times whether it was a good idea at all. Do you remember talking about this issue, years ago, in a different reality where we generally agreed that it was a silly notion to imagine that anyone in command of a starship might consider having an intimate relationship with any subordinate under their command?”

Beverly tapped her chin with a newly-manicured fingertip. “Why, yes. I do recall such a conversation. I believe I was trying to decide whether to reconsider an offer to discuss such an opportunity with a certain captain. But my own feelings at the time clearly didn't have enough impact on my decision-making to do that.”

Deanna crossed her arms tightly, caught herself, and deliberately uncrossed them. The waiter placed a cup of coffee in front of each of them and departed.

“You’re anxious about the possibility of ruining his career, and he doesn’t think it’s an issue,” Beverly half-asked.

“Not exactly.” Deanna tried not to look as anxious as she felt. Between her anxiety and Beverly’s, she was starting to lose the benefit of the massage. “I spend most of my time with him being happy. He worries about me at times, but he’s already said he doesn’t care what anyone thinks.”

Beverly grimaced. Tucking her hair behind her right ear, she turned sympathetic. “He’s an overthinker, and so are you. That surely doesn’t make it easy. Do any of the crew know?”

“Of course. It isn’t likely that any of them don’t know at this point. There weren’t any real issues beyond a few questions. And then there was a lieutenant who transferred aboard who made it obvious that he was interested in me. I don’t know that anyone failed to notice that, either. The issue resolved but it would have been handled differently if we hadn’t been overthinking, as you say.”

Beverly leaned back, crossing her legs, holding her cup idly. The hairdresser had curled her hair around her face and left it down; she’d been growing it out again, and it was shoulder length once more. “What I know is that neither of you would do this on a whim. So I’d suppose you both will put whatever effort is needed into it, to make it work and to protect each other from professional repercussions.”

Deanna smiled at her friend, almost crying at the vote of confidence. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Beverly said, wrinkling her nose. “But I doubt you needed that validation?”

“Validation that we have a good friend left, yes. We saw Will not so long ago — we were participating in a war game with him. He had a tantrum, essentially.”

“Oh.” Beverly looked down, thinking.

“Sometimes I wish I weren’t an empath,” Deanna said softly.

That led to a sympathetic look. “I’m sure you aren’t being helped by all that tension he’s radiating like a pulsar radiates electromagnetic radiation. When I went in to talk to him I was probably doing the same."

“But it doesn't matter, because I've tolerated stress like that all my life thanks to Starfleet.” Deanna frowned at her cup. The coffee was bitter. Not enough sweetener.

"Not exactly like. This is about relationships, and it wouldn't be so stressful if we weren't that important to each other. Which is reassuring to me, because I was very afraid that it was the end of my friendship with both of you," Beverly said very quietly.

Deanna made a dismayed, angry noise. "Why would it be?"

"Because I know how well Jean-Luc does with personal conflicts," Beverly said with a wry smile. "About as well as I would do with repairing the warp engines."

It was the sort of comment that would have amused both of them, back when they were CMO and counselor, responsible for the welfare of the crew and captain. But it felt different now. Deanna's smile faded almost before it began.

"He wanted to tell me about you two getting together, didn't he?" Beverly said.

"He asked me to speak to you privately. I suppose that didn't go as well as he planned?"

Beverly laughed, shaking her head. "I recognized some of your things in the room. Asked him if it was a transporter accident or if you'd moved in. He said the transporter was fine."

Both of them laughed at that. Deanna sighed heavily. "Poor Jean-Luc. But -- why would conflict with him end your friendship with me?"

"It wouldn't, but you haven't been talking to me the way we used to, and I was afraid we were destined to just drift apart. I didn't realize you were moping about him. I knew you were going through some crisis of a personal nature, because you were obviously suffering."

Deanna made a face at the reminder of how depressed and horrible she'd been. “This coffee is terrible. And it’s almost time. We should get back.”

They navigated back to the ship without incident. Once in the corridors on the _Enterprise_ Beverly once again took Deanna’s arm. “You didn’t answer the question about the wedding.”

“I won’t, because there isn’t one to talk about.”

“But you’ve thought about it?”

“Oh — “ Deanna paused as a couple of people went by going the other direction. “I suppose it’s a natural question for you to ask, but there really isn’t any plan. I haven’t thought about it much. Too busy worrying about the present to imagine it.”

Beverly was more concerned than before. They turned a corner and slowly approached the holodeck. Deanna had been following her sense of where Jean-Luc was, and Beverly was following her, clearly. “Deanna?”

“I’m worried because Starfleet is putting us through simulated battle scenarios,” Deanna said quietly. “Also because he’s worried and tired. He’s an explorer. We’ve been doing nothing but surveys and patrols. I hoped like everyone did that the end of the Dominion War meant we would go back to normal but there’s been so much to do helping the recovery effort. And while it’s been a relief that he was open to a relationship, it’s not what I expected from him at all.”

“He seems to be himself. I’m more worried about you.” Beverly touched Deanna’s arm, which drew her attention up from her feet. “Did you think I would be upset like Will?”

“I didn’t know, honestly. I knew what happened between you and Jean-Luc — just before you left the ship, I mean,” Deanna said quietly. “I knew how you felt, and it did worry me, that you might still have some feelings for him even now. Nothing in your messages suggested any, but of course you wouldn’t say. But that isn’t all of it.”

“Then what is it? You should be happy. This is the beginning of a relationship, that should be the honeymoon, shouldn’t it?”

Deanna smiled sadly. “It is. And yet, I wonder if you hesitated before, when he approached you, because he is Captain Picard.”

Beverly stood back and went wide-eyed. “Now that you mention it… I suppose that was part of it. Not being sure if I could respect him in the morning.”

Deanna smirked at her sarcastic response. “I see I’m not being clear. We should go in.”

“No — I understand what you’re saying, Dee, but — you’re the counselor, and if you don’t need to be his personal counselor what would anyone have to say about it?”

“Well, according to Captain Riker, it will ruin Captain Picard’s career. But it’s funny, you know, that he didn’t think it would ruin his career.” Deanna hugged herself and moved toward the door, not wanting to talk about it any longer. It was already turning her mood.

Jean-Luc was already seated at the table, shuffling the cards. He’d changed out of the uniform, wore a dark blue shirt, and smiled at them as they came in. He’d run a program featuring a bar that Will had come up with back on the 1701-D, that everyone liked so much that Data had replicated it on the new vessel. Of course, he’d removed all the holodeck characters. Deanna walked around the table, put a hand on his shoulder as she went to the replicator in the corner of the simulation.

“I see the salon did the job nicely,” he said.

“I like what they did for Beverly’s hair, but I wasn’t too impressed with mine. And the masseuse was not so good as he could have been.”

Jean-Luc was amused, but Deanna could tell he was also concerned. As she came to the table, put the bowl of popcorn and her glass down, and pulled out the chair next to him, he smiled up at her, watched her sit, looked her in the eye. “You had your hair done?”

“Exactly my point. It looks just the same as when I went in,” she said. “Where are the others?”

“Data is on his way down. Geordi is in — “

“Astrometrics,” they finished together. Deanna chuckled. “He’d better bring her for cards this time. I’d like to meet her.”

Jean-Luc was on the verge of leaning to kiss her, but caught himself — she sensed him checking himself and then feeling regret, that he had allowed his own self consciousness to keep him from it. She leaned toward him, giving him another opportunity, and he took it, leaning to brush his lips across hers. He went back to shuffling with too much attention to that activity, to recover his composure.

Beverly took a seat and watched them with an amused little smile that suggested they were too cute for words. “I’d like to meet her too, what’s her name?”

“Rachel Littleton,” Deanna supplied. “Lieutenant-Commander, and very much into old Terran plays. You would approve.”

The door sighed open, and Data entered the holodeck. He too had changed, into a rust-colored shirt and black pants that might have been from his uniform. “I do not believe Geordi will be here,” he said. “Hello, Dr. Crusher, it is good to see you again.”

“I want a hug,” Beverly said, jumping up and going to throw her arms around Data. He reciprocated stiffly.

Jean-Luc distracted Deanna by setting aside the cards and reaching for her. He didn’t put an arm around her, but his hand was heavy on her shoulder for a moment, then he let it drop. He wanted to do something else but was obviously still self conscious.

“I love you too,” she murmured. “You feel better, and Beverly isn’t yelling at me. This is a good day.”

“A good day to lose at poker,” Data said, taking a seat and putting on his visor.

“Challenge accepted,” Beverly said, sitting down and extending her arms as she cracked her knuckles.

“Why isn’t Geordi coming?” Jean-Luc asked.

“Lieutenant-Commander Littleton has requested a transfer to a long-range survey vessel that will be exploring the Gamma Quadrant.”

Deanna gaped for a few seconds. “Oh, no,” she said with a moan. She turned to Jean-Luc. “He was so happy with her.” She thought about Geordi, and it was enough to focus her empathy on him at a distance -- he was very upset indeed. Hurt.

“Oh, don’t be too upset just yet. For all we know his transfer request is also in the queue,” he said.

“No, it is not,” Data said. “I do wonder if it might be in the near future, however. The counselor is correct that he has been satisfied with his relationship with Lieutenant-Commander Littleton. I believe he was nearly as happy as you and the counselor.”

That observation led to a moment of frustration from Jean-Luc. Deanna pressed her lips together to avoid the amused smile she knew would add to his discomfort. “Maybe I should go talk to him,” she said quietly.

“I have observed that humans often need time to recover from such disturbing incidents as ‘breakups’ so I am uncertain that your attempt would be successful,” Data said. He hesitated in dealing the cards, then frowned. “That was formal. How would I rephrase?”

“Rephrase?” Beverly echoed.

“Data is working on a colloquial subroutine,” Deanna said. “Maybe it would be ‘Geordi needs a little more time to himself after his breakup.’ If there was actually a breakup. You may be right, he may be considering a transfer — or a long distance relationship.”

“Thank you, Counselor.”

Beverly chewed the inside of her cheek briefly and seemed to be lost in thought. Deanna knew by what she sensed that their friend was thinking of her own recent past, regrets and the muted feeling-memory of heartbreak were obvious.

“So what are we playing today? Five card stud?” Deanna asked. Data took the hint and moved on with dealing the cards and declaring deuces wild.

It was easy to fall into the rhythm of poker with friends, though some were missing. She wasn't surprised that deLio had not come, and Ward Carlisle likely was spending time with his family. Deanna tried to put Will out of mind, and more or less enjoyed playing while snacking and having some Tarkalian tea. She did her best to ignore the little emotional tells of her friends and play fairly, as usual. Beverly won the first hand.

“Data, how are you doing?” Beverly asked as Data gathered the cards in to shuffle for another hand. “I mean, really, how are you? The last time we spoke you were talking about learning a new instrument? And how are you doing with the promotion, are you liking the position?"

"I am doing well. I have had some success being first officer, however, I have found that the social aspects of the position continue to be more difficult for me. I have begun to learn how to play the trumpet.” Data finished dealing cards as he spoke and picked up his hand.

Everyone contemplated their cards, Jean-Luc requested another card, and bets were placed.

“Beverly, have you heard that Captain Picard and Counselor Troi are an item?”

“An item?” Beverly blurted. Jean-Luc dropped his hand face down on the velvet, bowed his head, and put his hand to his forehead, hiding his response.

“Data,” Deanna said softly.

“I am following the parameters set by Captain Picard. Beverly is a good friend. Was that not appropriate small talk for this occasion?“

“Data,” Beverly said, leaning forward a little. “I spent several hours with Deanna prior to this card game, and we did talk briefly about it. But thank you for explaining the excruciatingly-obvious in case I missed them making eyes at each other and kissing each other.”

Data tilted his head, considering. “I believe that is sarcasm.”

“Of course it is,” Beverly exclaimed. “How many years have you been operational and observing us? I don't believe you just now started to understand people — Data, please, admit to me the truth — you do in fact understand more about human interactions than you pretend, don’t you?”

“I do believe I have an understanding, but as I explained to the counselor, I often second-guess my interpretations and am currently explicitly working through the process of verifying what I believe I know,” Data said. “As has been observed, humans and many other humanoid species are often in the habit of using nonverbal language which is usually learned throughout the maturation of the individual, and while I am capable of observing and logging many gestures and cues — “

“Data,” Deanna interjected gently.

He nodded, giving her a fleeting smile. “I am sorry, Deanna. I did not mean to lapse into another unnecessary explanation. And Beverly, I am sorry that I annoyed you by telling you something that you already knew.”

“We all have our habits,” Jean-Luc said.

Beverly made a small noise that might have been a stifled giggle, or possibly frustration, and picked up her cards again. Deanna knew she was a little embarrassed by her own outburst. Losing patience with Data was likely a sign that she was still anxious generally about the situation, though she’d been doing well in putting on a good face. Deanna took care not to look across the table at her. Any suggestion that she was sensing any of it would further embarrass the doctor.

“How are you, Beverly?” Data asked.

“Really good, Data, thank you. Settled into my new sickbay and I have a study in progress, in one of the labs.”

“I understand the _Valiant_ has been assisting with the recovery effort, taking supplies to Bajor and some of the other worlds,” Jean-Luc said.

Data looked over the tops of his cards at Deanna, and his expression suggested he was questioning. He and Deanna had discussed at length the rituals of small talk and how that contributed to relationships. She hoped she didn’t have to tell him in excruciating detail how this particular situation was stressful and why. She nodded, and it seemed to suffice; he looked back at his hand.

Being distracted by the anxieties of her friends lost her the hand though she had good cards. She took a moment to pay attention instead of letting everything she sensed become background. There was an interesting amount of tension on the ship, and a fair bit of it in the room with her. Geordi was still upset; since Data’s revelation some small part of her had been tracking him, out of concern for her friend. And Beverly was now upset with herself for snapping at Data. Jean-Luc was now worrying about her, a familiar blend of emotions by now. Biting her lip while contemplating her new hand, Deanna attempted to block as much of the tension as she could — but she hadn’t meditated that morning, and hadn’t slept well, because Jean-Luc had slept very little thanks to his anticipation of seeing Beverly today. She frowned a little, and then under the table Jean-Luc put a hand on her thigh; she glanced at him and smiled, trying to reassure.

“I don’t feel too well at the moment,” she said, tossing her cards down.

“I am sorry to hear that, Deanna,” Data said.

Jean-Luc watched her stand up, on the verge of doing so himself. She touched his shoulder. “You should stay and play. Ward is on his way in, he can pick up my hand. It would be a shame to waste good cards. Are you staying for dinner, Beverly?”

“I can,” she replied. “If you want I’ll go with you to sickbay.”

“No, I’m just going to take a nap. I’ll see you at dinner.” Deanna leaned and kissed Jean-Luc’s forehead and headed for the door. In her wake, she sensed consternation from her friend and her lover, but rather than continue to fight the weariness until she snapped, she wanted to feel better for dinner conversation, which would be more likely to stray from surface chatter.

 

* * *

 

  
Beverly watched Deanna’s back as she left and wished she had done all of it differently. She shot a look at Data and exchanged a smile with him. “Ward?”

“Mr. Carlisle is the second officer,” Data explained. “His wife and children are aboard. He wanted to take the children home from school before he joined us for poker.”

“Oh. I think I remember him, he was in operations?” Beverly glanced at Jean-Luc; he was watching her, and though he could be inscrutable she thought he was concerned. She looked at Deanna’s empty chair and back.

“She didn’t sleep well,” he said, sounding tired himself. They all knew Deanna well enough to understand that she could fray at the edges without adequate rest; in the past they had seen her struggle with empathy and being overwhelmed with what she sensed. Beverly felt some mild guilt that she couldn’t shake the nervousness.

“You don’t seem too energetic yourself. Some stressful missions lately?” she asked.

He frowned and gave it a nod. “You could say that.”

“Some diplomatic endeavors are more stressful than others,” Data said, eyeing his captain as if waiting for a response.

Jean-Luc narrowed his eyes at the android, as if this was an ongoing back-and-forth.

“Okay, I suppose I don’t need to know what that’s about,” Beverly commented, as the holodeck door opened.

A blonde man about Jean-Luc’s height and probably half his age came in, and Data glanced up at him. “Welcome, Mr. Carlisle. This is Dr. Beverly Crusher. You may remember her?”

“Yes, nice to see you again, doc.” Ward smiled at her as he took the chair next to Deanna’s vacated seat. “Where’s the counselor?”

“She wasn’t feeling well, but said you could use her last hand — evidently she has good cards.” Jean-Luc gestured at the cards on the table.

Ward snatched up the hand and nodded appreciation. “Hope she feels better.”

“Deuces wild, Mr. Carlisle.”

“Formality,” Jean-Luc commented.

Data cleared his throat lightly. “I mean — we are playing deuces wild, Ward. How are your children?”

“They’re great — can’t wait for the next holodeck trip. Think you’ll visit the school again? I guess all the kids are looking forward to another chance to ask you questions.” Ward glanced around the table.

Beverly endured the small talk about daily ship drama — the small community of any ship was rife with dramas of a personal nature. She knew some of the people they talked about, and she started to miss her old posting. She won a hand, and then the conversation shifted again.

“Are you playing in the next concert, sir?” Ward asked, looking up at Jean-Luc.

“That is the rumor, yes.”

“Cecily will have someone to sit with, then. She feels a little out of place in a room full of officers she doesn’t know.”

Data frowned, confused. “I do not understand. Are there officers behaving in ways that cause her to feel unwelcome?”

“No, Data, but — “ Ward struggled for a moment with it. “Actually I don’t even know. Cecily is a little anxious in crowds. She likes to sit with someone she knows at events. If the captain is playing Deanna will be there.”

“I understand that people often feel anxious in crowds. Counselor Troi has explained to me that the human nervous system — “ Data stopped mid sentence and returned Jean-Luc’s steady gaze for a moment. “She has explained that to me,” he finished vaguely. “And I do not need to repeat all of it but I hope that Cecily might be able to speak to the counselor herself.”

Jean-Luc returned his attention to the cards.

“Cute,” Beverly said softly, sinking a little in her chair.

Ward chuckled and threw down his cards. “Three of a kind.”

“Aw,” Beverly said, tossing down her two threes and three tens. “Full house.”

The following half hour of poker was largely uneventful, and Jean-Luc called it at last, sending Data to the bridge to check on things before going on leave himself, told Ward he would see him tomorrow, and then it was the two of them standing in the holodeck.

“End program,” Jean-Luc said, and everything vanished, leaving them on the yellow gridlines on the black floor. “I'm going to check on Deanna. You are welcome to come, as it’s nearly dinner time.”

“Jean-Luc, you’re worried about her, and I don’t think it’s just because she’s a little tired today,” Beverly said. Crossing her arms, she shifted her weight to her right foot and gazed steadily at the face of her late husband’s best friend and waited for him to bluster at her or run away.

He looked at the floor and took the moment she expected him to take, to contemplate what to say. He took a few steps toward her, mirroring her stance. “We have already established that I am not perhaps the best choice for a long term relationship,” he said, proving that he could still shock her. “We have already discussed possible impacts on career. And yet, despite our anxiety, we decided to stay together.”

“I think you're happy, so I'm hoping that the tension is just about me," she said quietly. "Because the two of you deserve to be happy."

His subtle little smiles could mean a variety of things, shades of embarrassment usually, and his smirk in response to that was typical. "We are, generally speaking. Come on."

They walked together to the turbolift, and joined a dark-haired woman in a green dress in the next car -- and a small boy, who grinned up at Jean-Luc. "Hi Captain!"

"Hello, Kenny," Jean-Luc said, with the usual stiff discomfort he’d always had with children. "Good afternoon, Malia."

"Hello, Captain. Dr. Crusher, nice to see you again," Malia Ching said.

"Hi, Malia. Kenny, how are you? You're looking so much taller!" Beverly put on a smile for her former patients. "I bet it's because you're eating all your vegetables these days." The boy nodded, but leaned against his mother, turning shy. He might remember being her patient several times.

The lift stopped on deck six, and the door opened. "I'll see you at practice, Captain. Come on, Kenny, we have dinner to make," Malia said, leading her son out.

"I'm glad you're still playing in the ensemble," Beverly said, though the days were past when it was her responsibility to encourage him to do things that were good for him instead of hiding in his quarters with a book.

"It's something I've come to enjoy a great deal, so I appreciate all the encouragement you gave me," he said as they strode up to his door. This time she was less anxious approaching it, so noticed Deanna's name on the wall below his. She smiled and followed him inside.

Deanna turned from putting a bottle of wine on the table, which was set. Evidently they planned to eat family style instead of letting everyone replicate their own food. She happily waited as Jean-Luc approached; instead of kissing her on the mouth, he leaned in and brushed his lips along her cheek. Deanna turned as he kept moving and somehow, in some sort of odd synchrony, they moved together and he pulled out a chair for her, she sat down, all of it executed while nearly standing together on each other's toes.

Beverly sat down with them at the small round table and watched Jean-Luc open a bottle of wine the old-fashioned way. The food looked Terran, and it was spicy. Deanna tended to like spicy, she knew.

"Do you feel better? You seem more rested," Beverly said as she picked up some of the noodle dish with her fork.

"Yes. I must have needed a reset." There was an ease in her smile that said she felt better. She looked more like Deanna Troi as she'd been in better days, and it was reassuring.

"We all need that, from time to time. I actually spent a week on Risa, myself. Just last month. Some quality time with a good book, a beach, and no one asking for my help. It was so nice not to have to think for a while."

"Yes," Deanna agreed, her smile broader. "I'm afraid I lost my meditation schedule here and there over the past year -- red alerts and lots of appointments made me lose track of myself for a while. I let myself get too caught up."

"Counselor, heal thyself." Beverly poked a dumpling to halve it and pick up a piece with the fork. She noticed Jean-Luc's expression had gone serious. "It's been a terrible year for too many of us. I’m glad you have each other.”

And then they looked at each other. Oh, it was so obvious they were completely over the moon, as her grandmother used to say. Jean-Luc had never looked that way in Beverly’s memory, in fact. Then Deanna turned back to her plate, and Jean-Luc reached for the wine, and the moment was past.

"Which resort on Risa did you stay at? We might want to plan an actual vacation," Deanna asked, picking up her fork again.

Beverly thought about Jean-Luc on a Risan beach covered with naked sunbathers and grinned. “I don’t recall the name of one I was at, but I do remember one featuring some of those steam pools you read about — Terroka was the name, I think. They had cottages with private beaches that you beamed to, each one was quite remote from the others, on islands I think. If I go back that’s where I want to go.”

“That does sound nice. I also hear from Mother that Casperia Prime is especially scenic, which she felt was somewhat boring, but she loves parties and they rarely have the big festivals or celebrations some of the other worlds have,” Deanna said, reaching for her wine glass.

“Perhaps in a few months, after our next mission,” Jean-Luc said amiably.

That was remarkable enough to Beverly that she paused, forgetting what she’d been about to say. He had always been so resistant to leave. So rigid and focused on duty. She regrouped while drinking the wine, a wonderful red from Jean-Luc’s vineyard. And that too said something — there had been very rare instances when he had shared his wine with senior staff over the years. Celebrating promotions, and then Will’s promotion. She put down her glass and took a moment to consider this. They noticed her sudden change of mood and waited for her to speak.

“I was thinking, after you contacted me this morning, about how things have been changing,” Beverly began, knowing it would shift the mood again. She hoped not for the worse. “Wondering if you were going to finally accept a promotion, or retire. And when Dee didn’t respond to my last message I was sad, thinking we’d all finally drifted apart as sometimes happens with friends in Starfleet. I haven’t heard from Worf since he left for Deep Space Nine, and Will hasn’t really bothered except for sending a Christmas greeting every year. Data of course sends correspondence on a monthly schedule but — Data. So I really am happy, that it was just a little anxiety about how I might react to this that’s kept you looking stressed today, and you weren’t actually disappearing forever from my life. And I want you to know that regardless of how my feelings go, I don’t want to be an impediment to your being happy together. I love you, both of you, and I promise that I will keep in touch even if sometimes things get busy.”

Deanna blinked away tears and smiled happily at her. “Thank you. And you know that regardless of what I sense, I’ll always rely more on what you say.”

Jean-Luc glanced at Deanna, and it startled Beverly again, that he was being this way — there was definitely a softness in his gaze that she had never seen before with him, and in her mind she flashed back to the early days with Jack before the long separations had started, before she’d gotten pregnant. She’d missed having a husband often over the years, long after the grief of losing Jack had waned, missed having a companion after the work was done, and this reminder brought some of both losses back out of the past briefly.

“So what are we doing tomorrow?” she asked, infusing the question with warmth and setting aside the thought of Jack easily.

“We could try one of the Dixon Hill scenarios,” Deanna said. “You haven’t run that one in a long time.”

Jean-Luc shook his head. “I’ve lost interest in those. We could go riding, or explore some ancient city. I am informed that the newer programs we received in the last update include ancient Rome.”

"I have a program you might like," Beverly said. "It's a mystery set in the Old West. Something for both of you. Horses, intrigue, and a murderer to catch. Our second officer came up with it."

"That might be fun. What do you think?" Deanna asked, turning to him.

"One thing about the holodeck, we can always change what we don't like," he said.

"I can bring it over in the morning. Ten hundred hours, so you can actually sleep in a little, and so can I," Beverly said, holding out her wine glass for Jean-Luc to refill. "So do you think Will is going to come around, after what happened? If we plan any reunions in the future it would be nice to know if he should be included."

"He did apologize for his behavior," Jean-Luc said, but Deanna was looking at him now in surprise.

"He apologized to you?"

Jean-Luc was not happy about this, from the set of his mouth. "I spoke with him in the ready room after the first skirmish concluded. He apologized to me, and I assumed he would certainly speak to you before we parted ways."

"He did, but -- " She shook her head, and it was clear she was hurt. "I wasn't convinced that he really meant it. I haven't heard from him again, either. You feel as though he was sincere. Perhaps he was, to you. But I was the one who rejected him and from his perspective, I lied to him by not telling him how I felt about you."

"What exactly happened with him? You said he was angry?"

Deanna's pained expression didn't make Jean-Luc happy; he was watching her nervously. "I mentioned I think that he wanted me to go with him to his new command, be the counselor aboard the _Lexington_. He knows me as well as you, he knew there was something going on with me, but he assumed it had something to do with him. When I denied that and refused to go, it hurt him. And when he came aboard to visit a couple of months ago, he assumed that you left the ship because we were together."

Beverly gaped for a moment at that. "Well, that oblivious man," she exclaimed. "I think I'll be having a chat with Captain Riker."

"I don't think it matters if you correct him at this point. Please don't feel you have to," Deanna said. She sighed and gazed despondently at her wine glass, with about a mouthful left in it. "I think I'll try to contact him."

"I have to wonder why you would wish to do so," Jean-Luc said, his voice fairly vibrating with anger.

"You don't have a cause for anger, Jean," Deanna said. The shorter version of his name was jarring, but obviously not unusual for them. He didn't react to it. "Let me work it out with him. Please." She stood up. "I'll be back in a minute."

When she had gone through the bedroom door and it closed behind her, Beverly sat back in her chair and gave him a serious look.

"What now?"

"I'm wondering if you've given her an order since you started sleeping with her."

It caught him off guard -- he sat up straighter, swaying a little, and then he smirked at her. "Well, why sugarcoat it, tell me how you really feel, Beverly."

Beverly leaned forward with her arms on the table. "Have you?"

"Of course. I have to give everyone orders, it's generally in the job description after all. Would you care for dessert?" He got up and piled his plate on Deanna's mostly-empty plate, and went to recycle them.

"I mean real orders, putting her in the line of fire. Don't pretend you haven't already started to worry about it."

He returned with a piece of pie and a dish of chocolate ice cream, and sat facing her once again. "She was injured in a mission recently. Went missing, and we feared the worst. But we found her."

"She didn't say anything about it. What happened?"

"The Zibyans imprisoned her. She got out on her own, and found a way to communicate with us."

Deanna returned as he spoke, smiled at the sight of the ice cream, and sat down to pick up the spoon. "The planet of empaths -- it should have been a nice assignment. Unfortunately empathy did them no favors. Why do some species decide a collective consciousness is a good idea?"

"Don't have a clue," Jean-Luc said, waving his hand dismissively.

"So these empaths you're talking about locked you up and he rescued you?"

Jean-Luc gave her such an exasperated look that she almost laughed at him. Deanna looked amused. "He tried. It was a collaborative effort."

"Has anyone ever told you that you're lousy at telling a story?"

They both were amused by that. "It's a difficult story to tell," he said.

"Because you're embarrassed, or because it's a painful story?"

"Does it have to be one or the other?" Deanna asked. "It could easily be both, you know."

Beverly sighed. "Well. I should get back to the _Valiant_ and check on my sickbay. I'm starting to fade anyway. Perhaps you'll tell me the whole story tomorrow."

She hugged each of them, and noticed it felt easier now. She left them there and headed for the transporter room, thinking that all things considered, the day had gone fairly well.


	2. Chapter 2

Jean-Luc heard the holodeck doors groan and turned to see Beverly walking in. "Good morning."

She, like him, had worn riding boots and clothes suitable for riding a horse. Unlike him, she also wore a hat. She smiled at him and looked up and around. "Why are you standing in a starfield?" She joined him on the patch of light in the center of the room, and they both gazed up at the sector over their heads.

"This is a re-creation of the first battle of our three day battle exercise from a couple months ago," he said. "I had Data use the logs to render it into a holodeck program."

"Okay," she said uncertainly. "Why was that worth doing?"

"Deanna was in command for the first exercise."

Beverly's eyes came down to meet his. "You're making that significant somehow for what reason?"

Jean-Luc exhaled. "Computer, run program."

The _Enterprise_ appeared to the left, and four other vessels approached. The lead ship fired and the Sovereign class moved aside, the others followed, and the game was on. Beverly watched the ships maneuver and the holodeck followed the action, the stars even blurring to denote the speed of the _Enterprise_ 's flight through the sector, and then the glow of the gigantic star that the ship fled into painted both of them red. The _Lexington_ followed it to the periphery of the star. The other vessels waited off to the right.

The diversionary explosion within the red giant made Beverly flinch bodily. "What just happened?" she cried. The  _Lexington_ went in, slowly vanishing from view.

"Deanna ordered a diversion, to make Will think the ship actually exploded. So she could do this," he said, pointing up at the angry red giant, as another explosion flashed yellow and white against the red gasses. The  _Enterprise_ burst from the star and moved off, the other vessels moving to intercept, and within seconds, they were moving apart and the larger Sovereign class bombed right through the triangular formation of vessels, the shields flaring, and then the ship went to warp in a flash. 

Beverly gaped up at the stars for a moment. "She destroyed Will's ship?"

"Of course, all of it is simulated, no shots were fired, just ships moving through the sector and computers logging the fictitious damage. But yes, she did. By making him think we were actually in trouble. Not precisely the point of the simulation. She did however issue orders throughout that ultimately led to the ship surviving the encounter, evaded the attacking force without firing at them and causing simulated war."

"So are you enjoying this presentation because you are angry at Will, or proud of her?"

Jean-Luc harrumphed at that. "End program," he called out. The holodeck returned to the yellow-on-black grid. "She enjoyed this exercise, even though she felt she did poorly. Since then we have talked about whether or not she would like to continue on a track that leads to command, and the fact that she is the one bringing it up each time leads me to believe that she is still considering it."

Beverly smiled at that. "Then you're proud of her. Where is she?"

"She had a client this morning."

"So much for sleeping in?" She came a few steps closer, and the curiosity and concern in her face warned him. "So if she does go that path and ends up being the first officer?"

"I'll make it work." He crossed his arms. "She will."

Beverly's chin dropped, and she furrowed her brows at him. But before she could respond the door opened, and Deanna in her riding clothes entered the room. "I expected to be in town, watching a shootout," she said, putting on the broad-brimmed hat she carried. "Why are you talking about very serious things?"

"She is still worried about us, and I suspect she will continue until we are married," Jean-Luc said. It startled Beverly; he smiled, smug that he'd caught her out.

"That makes three of us," Deanna replied. 

"So you  _are_ planning a wedding," Beverly said, planting her hands on her hips. 

"Perhaps we should run the program?" Jean-Luc turned away from her, but without anywhere to go yet he ended up coming right back around.

"Computer, run Crusher four ten," Beverly said. The dusty little frontier town materialized around them, and there were saddled horses standing nearby, waiting with swishing tails.

Jean-Luc waited while Deanna chose a brown and white pinto, cupped a hand to give her a leg up, and turned to take the reins of the gray. "Tally ho."

"That would be a different style of riding," Deanna said. "The more appropriate phrase might be 'saddle up, cowboy.'"

"I can see that diplomatic skills may come in handy for this."

 

* * *

 

 

Beverly departed after two hours of the American West, to be at her post when the _Valiant_ left the station. Deanna went back to quarters for lunch, following Jean-Luc. "So what do you think of the program?"

"It was entertaining, but not entirely compelling. Obviously life was simple and brutal. Did you enjoy it?"

Deanna thought about Worf and Alexander. "The last time I was in the wild west, we were still aboard the previous  _Enterprise_. I think her program had more attention to detail. I know you prefer the English tack." He had in mid-program told the computer to alter the tack to something he was more comfortable with. 

"She thinks I'm crazy," he said, stopping at the replicator and touching a preset. His food materialized, and he carried the sandwich and salad to the table. 

"I did not have that impression." Deanna brought her own large salad over and sat across from him.

"I suppose on the surface it would seem so, when I say I support you in advancing your career. But I wasn't able to explain fully what that means to me." 

"When are we supposed to depart for the Neutral Zone?" Deanna started to eat, sensing that he was ready to debate that subject more fully, but that wasn't her plan. She took off the cowboy hat and dropped it on the floor as she raised a forkful of greens to her lips.

"We're leaving in three hours. I am informed that we will have ample time for detached duty activities, while cruising the border looking for cloaked warbirds and not seeing any."

She smirked at his subtle exasperated humor. It was their second such tour in the past year, and the first had seen every holodeck booked for the duration of the assignment. The Romulans were dormant again, following the events of the Dominion War; diplomatic endeavors between the Empire and the Federation had been at a standstill. "Plenty of time for massages and naked Betazoids?"

"No, no, no," he said, wagging his finger. "One naked Betazoid."

He was so willing to make her laugh, it was easy to indulge. But she also had some less amusing questions. "So what did she say when you showed her the program?"

"Program?"

Deanna eyed him, letting her fork drop in her bowl. He knew by now that she could tell what he was thinking about from his emotions. "You showed her the holo-program that Data created from the war game. I'm curious as to how she reacted to it."

He put down his sandwich, and they sat gazing at each other -- she could tell he was trying to gauge whether she was upset, but she remained calm and waited him out. "It impressed her," he said at last. "Data did an excellent job."

"All right." Deanna picked up her fork again. "I haven't seen it yet. Maybe I'll have a look at it later."

He felt an interesting blend of concern, frustration and resignation, and watched her for a moment. "Why does it upset you that I showed it to her?"

"Because you know that I don't care to memorialize my rookie attempt at leading the ship into battle and you showed it to her without asking me if I cared whether or not you were doing it. I have accepted that you have created the holo-program, even developed some curiosity as to the end result. But I'm not sure I am happy with hearing the criticisms and opinions of other people about it."

"I'm sorry," he said, though she was sure he was not completely understanding why she was upset. "It won't happen again."

"At least it was only Beverly, and she didn't bring it up until the end of the cowboy program," Deanna said with a sigh. She poked at a tomato idly, no longer feeling hungry. "At least she was kidding about my wanting revenge for Will's tantrum."

He was thinking now, and watched her chew the tomato. "I hadn't thought that it was revenge. Nor did she, initially."

"It was a mistake," she admitted. She didn't like it, but she had come to the conclusion in the weeks following, each time Jean-Luc or Data or someone else mentioned it. "I shouldn't have done it that way. I should have stayed within the scenario, and not considered tactics that played on his concern for us. Because I was so focused on doing my best to succeed and I knew that he would be the one who was most likely to prevail, I did not give full consideration to how he would feel, what he might think my motives were -- I think he did not apologize to me because he misinterpreted and thinks that what I did was personally motivated, instead of desperate measures and inexperience."

"He thought it was my idea, actually," Jean-Luc said. 

Deanna stared at him, losing all interest in finishing her meal. 

"But I did tell him you gave all the orders, throughout the battle. That I only provided information. I told him that you were responding to my expectation that you take command."

"Did he seem angry?" Deanna started to think about ordering a big bowl of ice cream. "I was in the briefing with the cadets and very much caught up in my own feelings at the time, so I didn't pay much attention to anyone else."

"Not particularly angry, no. Not in my presence anyway."

"It was three days of battle drills," she said, thinking about it. "He didn't come back to the  _Enterprise_ and didn't speak to me again. I should have contacted him." It had been a stressful three days, had taken a dismaying length of time for her to really recover from her experience and start to be fully rational about everything. Then she had felt guilty for neglecting clients and went into overdrive to catch up.

"I thought you had. When I spoke to him several weeks ago he asked after your welfare and it didn't appear that anything was amiss." 

Deanna picked up her bowl to take to the replicator and returned with chocolate ice cream. "I'll contact him after we're finished with lunch."

"Do you want me to absent myself for the duration?"

She smiled at him, and he returned it; his uncertainty and anxiety dwindled, with the reassurance that she wasn't upset with him. "I'll go back to my old quarters. It will be private and I won't be disturbed there." 

He smiled, and then he was off in his own thoughts while she slowly ate her ice cream. As she worked her way to the bottom of the bowl, he came to some conclusion - she sensed the satisfaction of reaching it, and he nodded to himself. 

"I believe I will practice my flute while you are gone," he said.

"If you're still practicing when I return, don't stop on my account -- I enjoy listening to you play." She took her bowl to recycle, and he followed her, caught her in his arms as she turned from the replicator, and they held each other for a moment. 

"I love you," she murmured, as she often did. "I'll be back soon."

"I love you,  _cygne_ ," he rumbled in her ear. He kissed her cheek.

They parted and she walked out and down the corridor. Being on the same deck and down the corridor from her old quarters gave her a place to meditate when she didn't want to disrupt his routine. Being the captain, he often used his quarters to meet with other officers or accept incoming transmissions.

She went in and sat in the middle of the sofa, and sighed. All personal items were gone now, but she still felt some ownership of the space, and sometimes she wanted that. Living with Jean-Luc was not difficult; she loved him, and she knew that they were slowly moving from the excitement of a new relationship into a more steady, less anxious phase. She could tell that he, like her, felt a need for space sometimes. He'd been solitary for so long that she had expressed some concern but he'd insisted it wouldn't be a problem. Reality was proving otherwise. They both had some need for solitude, however, so it was easy for her to indulge him in his by indulging her own.

"Troi to bridge."

"Bridge here, Commander." The officer of the watch was a lieutenant in security, and she didn't remember his name right away. 

"I would like an open channel to the captain of the  _Lexington_."

"Aye, sir. Just a moment." 

She waited, and hoped it was not an inconvenient time. When the computer signaled the open channel, Will's voice filled the room. "Riker here."

Had the lieutenant not told him who was contacting him? "Will, hello," she said, smiling and trying to sound normal. "I hope that I am not interrupting anything."

"Not at all. I'm in my ready room -- the ship is on the way to the next system survey. What can I do for you?"

The crisp, almost impersonal tone he took hurt her. She inhaled sharply. Took a second to calm. "I want to apologize to you. I believe that what I did in the war games may have come across to you as a personal attack and not the action of a panicked counselor trying to meet the expectations of her commanding officer."

She almost wished she had asked for a visual link. Silence drew out for long seconds. "I understood that it would be someone with little battle experience, when the battle started. And Jean-Luc told me that you'd done some work to prepare -- I admit that I initially concluded that it was revenge but afterward I thought about our conversations and it seemed to me that you were more hurt than angry, distressed, and that you wouldn't have done that out of anger. So I appreciate the apology but I don't believe it's necessary."

"That's such a relief," she said, smiling through the tears that had started. He was being so very careful and keeping his tone even and unemotional. "I wouldn't want that to damage our friendship. I was so anxious about doing well in the war game that I wasn't thinking about much else at the time, and -- well, we were talking to Beverly and it came up, and then I started to think about it more."

"How is Beverly?"

"She's well. We had dinner with her last night. The  _Valiant_ happened to be at a starbase when we got here. It's been good to spend some time with her. You were missed in our poker game."

Another silence. "I'm sorry I missed it," he said, managing to sound not at all regretful. 

"We're patrolling the Neutral Zone for a while, so I don't know if we'll see you again soon. I just wanted to -- " But she couldn't finish. She wanted to say she missed his friendship but something held her back from it. Whether it was the possibility of being misunderstood or the way he was being, standoffish and almost cold, she wasn't certain. She rallied again, regrouping, resolute in wanting to re-establish their ailing relationship. "I also wanted to apologize for losing my temper. I regret my words, when you left after your promotion. And I know I should have handled it better when we met at the starbase. I have no excuses, only the benefit of hindsight, telling me that I was too stressed and anxious to really think about what I was saying, because -- " But she didn't want him to know how afraid she was, that Jean-Luc would change his mind about their relationship. She didn't trust him to handle her fears with compassion, now. 

It was difficult to sit in her spartan quarters and listen to the slight sounds of his breathing, and a squeak of his chair, and wait for his response.

"I'm sure we'll have a chance to see each other again, Counselor. Give your captain my regards."

The connection terminated with a chirp. Deanna closed her eyes and sat with tears streaming down her face, grieving. She wanted desperately to be angry, or less anguished at least, but it certainly felt as though she had lost her best friend. 

The red alert klaxon jarred her from her misery. She looked down at her cowboy outfit and ran for the door; all her uniforms were in the bedroom of the captain's quarters. Jean-Luc had already gone of course so she sped through washing her face, tying back her hair, and getting dressed as quickly as she could.

She got to the bridge with all the distress tucked away, to find the bridge crew all present and busy -- no one noticed her run down to her seat. Jean-Luc stood in the center of the bridge and appeared to be on alert but not inordinately stressed -- tense, but calm. He didn't so much as look at her, as she expected. The klaxon was silenced but all the red indicators were blinking, alternately bathing the anxious faces of her crewmates. She glanced at Data, as calm as ever, seated to the right of the captain's chair. Then looked at her own panel. They were in transit -- warp nine. The coordinates did not correlate with a planet or starbase, but she noted they were close to a Federation colony.

Jean-Luc turned, tugging his jacket, and went back to sit down. "Mr. deLio?"

"No response from the  _Valiant,_ sir."

Deanna's eyes widened. She stared at the view screen. At warp, they would see nothing of the other vessel. Something must have happened right after the other vessel left the station. Turning back to her console, she tapped in a request -- the  _Valiant_ had been on its way to a newly-established Federation colony, Despin, with some agricultural equipment, when it altered course to respond to a distress call.

"Time to intercept," Jean-Luc snapped.

"Ten minutes, sir." Natalia Greenman had been one of the few cadets to make the final cut to round out the crew. Her long pony tail had been cut to a short utilitarian bob that reminded Deanna of Ro Llaren. She kept her attention on the helm.

Data touched his console and looked up from what he read there. "Sir, the  _Valiant_ is off course. It appears they were ordered to divert to a crisis on Galisi, and that they were en route when they were attacked."

"What kind of crisis?"

"Apparently they have come under attack, by unidentified ships. Galisi is a small colony of two thousand four hundred sixty-two, mostly -- "

"Betazoid," Deanna finished for him. "I have cousins there. It's a new colony, started last year after the war was over. The attack on Betazed during the war startled a lot of people out of complacency and made them think about what would happen if we were ever taken again, so the decision was made to establish more colonies. The colony isn't yet self-sufficient. They didn't like being so close to the Neutral Zone, but it was the best available choice the Federation could offer."

"Thank you. . . Commanders." The corner of Jean's mouth quirked a little. "Is there anything about Galisi that the Romulans would find desirable enough to fight for?"

"Unlikely, Captain. As the counselor said, they are still very new and live primitively. The last ship to stop at Galisi was the  _Scheherazade_ , a freighter, two weeks ago. The cargo included foodstuffs, terraforming and farming equipment, and two hundred hand phasers."

"Two hundred?"

"The manifest is quite specific." Data checked his console again. "They requested weaponry and security personnel directly from Starfleet, citing difficulty with pirates carrying illegal weaponry. The identity of the pirates is not made clear; I will access the full -- "

" _Valiant_ is in range," deLio announced. "She is still under attack."

"Drop to impulse. Identify the attackers."

They dropped out of warp and the  _Valiant_  swam into view on the screen, upside down, adrift, and venting plasma. She still fired on her assailants, missing three times in the few seconds Deanna watched.

deLio droned out, "Damage is significant -- hull breaches on three decks, and they have ejected their warp core. Five smaller vessels, all Federation configuration, insignia obliterated and identification codes altered."

"Open a channel, all frequencies. This is Captain Picard of the  _Enterprise_  -- break off your attack and surrender at once or we will open fire."

deLio paused only seconds. "No response. One of the vessels is coming about -- ramming speed, aimed for deck one. Impact in eight, seven -- "

"Fire phasers," Jean-Luc barked. "Target the other vessels. Can we get a tractor beam on them?"

The forward phaser banks caught the vessel nearly point-blank, just off the nose of the  _Enterprise_ **,**  and debris rained against the forward shields, flaring briefly on the screen.

Deanna closed her eyes and folded her hands on her lap. There wasn't anything she could do but sit, in this situation. She hated feeling so useless; now that she'd been in command in the middle of a battle, going back to just being an onlooker felt like. . . settling. She concentrated on the emotions around her, and tried reaching beyond. At a distance her abilities decreased significantly, but still, the vague, fuzzy presences of the  _Valiant_  crew and the attackers were there, at the periphery. She thought she detected the familiar flicker of Beverly at full alert -- people she knew were always more easily perceived. Beverly would be in full control, doing triage, delegating, in her way as much a commanding officer as Jean-Luc.

Jean-Luc snapped out more orders as the pirates pressed another attack, and the crew responded -- Natalia, for all her inexperience and inner wavering, was doing well. The remaining ships were harassing them, flirting with them, taking cover behind the crippled  _Valiant_ **,**  and obviously knew just what they could get away with -- they knew Starfleet technology. She knew what Jean-Luc wanted without having to sense or ask -- to capture them and find out who they were, these people in Federation vessels that had probably been stolen or purchased on the black market that those in the ranks knew existed but didn't want to acknowledge. In the smaller vessels they could maneuver out of the way with a turn on one axis. She could sense angry flares of --

She inhaled sharply, head jerking as if she'd been slapped.

"Counselor?" The captain lost a little of his edginess, turning to her. When had he become so attuned to her that he knew this should interrupt?

"One of those ships -- I thought it was Will. It has to be Tom."

His lip curled slightly, and his anxiety shifted to ire. "Maquis. I thought as much."

"They're fleeing, sir," deLio said. "In three different directions."

"Make a note of their headings. Hail the  _Valiant_ **.** "

"She's fine," Deanna murmured. He didn't look at her, but nodded curtly, rising to greet his fellow captain and offer assistance.

The viewer came on to show a middle-aged man, balding, in a rumpled uniform, standing on an older style bridge. There was a Vulcan at tactical and a cluster of young human officers labored at the helm and ops consoles, obviously making repairs. "Captain Picard," Barregan exclaimed. "Thank you for coming to our aid so promptly."

"Bob," Jean-Luc said with a tight-lipped smile. "I always wish it were under better circumstances. What can we do to help?"

"I'm afraid they caught me flatfooted, Jean-Luc. One of them signaled for help, and while we were approaching them the rest came out of nowhere and opened fire. We have some pretty heavy damage and 23 injured. Our warp drive is down and we need a new core."

"I have dispatched a shuttle to locate and bring back the ejected core," Data put in. "We can evaluate its usability when it is retrieved. However, the vessel should be at a starbase for warp engine repairs."

"We're supposed to protect the colonists," Barregan said. "And limping back to starbase at impulse will take years."

"We can take the  _Valiant_ back to the starbase at low warp, sir," Data said.

"But I suspect there are no other vessels in the area to provide support to the colony," Jean-Luc said, hands on his hips, thinking it through. Recruitment was at an all-time low and vessels were spread very thin.

"Just a moment," Barregan said, turning as an officer came into view with a padd. He frowned as he scrutinized it. "So there are hull breaches as well - too many problems, Jean-Luc. I have life support but now we're going to have problems with too many crew and not enough resources and living space. I have a deck and a half rendered unlivable due to a hull breach."

"A compromise," Jean-Luc said, raising his head. "I can take your crew who are not essential to repairs or operating the ship aboard, and send over some engineers and equipment to assist you with the repairs as you start the journey back to the starbase. We go on to the colony and resolve the issue of the pirates. On our way to the starbase we catch up to you and tow you home the rest of the way."

"If it's the best we can do with what we have. I'll start sending the wounded over to your sickbay and we'll give you a finalized damage report within the hour."

Jean-Luc turned to look at his officers. "Counselor, we'll need quarters for several hundred people. Mr. Data, pull the manifest -- anything we have that will work for the _Valiant_ to help with repairs. Mr. LaForge, select a team and get them ready to transport with tools."

Deanna stood and departed the bridge at a brisk walk. On deck two she entered her office and asked the computer for a layout of the empty quarters on the ship, and started to work out where the additional officers would be billeted. After ten minutes of work, Data contacted her and sent along a list of personnel they would be housing. She reviewed it quickly, and started assigning quarters so that when they beamed aboard and asked the computer, they would have a place to sleep. She hit the first officer and sat up straight.

Why would the universe conspire to be so cruel?

She assigned the bane of her Academy years to a cabin on deck ten, and hoped he would be too exhausted to wander very far from it.

She continued, and smiled when she saw Beverly's name -- the doctor would be following her patients to the _Enterprise_ of course. She placed her friend in her own vacant quarters.

By the time she finished and went back to the bridge, the red alert was done, the viewer showed one of the _Enterprise'_ s shuttles moving toward the damaged _Valiant._ Data was issuing orders. He glanced up at her.

"All the transfers have a place to stay, Commander."

"Thank you, Counselor. You should rest. It will take time to complete the transfer of officers and supplies, and we will be in orbit around Galisi in the morning. I expect that the captain will want your assistance when we arrive."

"Good night, Commander Data." She smiled and headed for the lift.

She made it to their quarters without remembering how she got there. She went to the bedroom, sat on her side of the bed, and leaned down to remove her boots, then peeled off the jacket.

Jean-Luc came out of the bathroom wearing nothing but gray shorts, looking tired and preoccupied. When he saw her it was enough to startle him, and he smiled as he finished the walk to his side of the bed. "I think the universe heard us complaining about patrols on the Neutral Zone."

"I wasn't. I wanted a massage every day and long walks on the beach," she said, starting the wriggle out of the undershirt. The band in her hair came off as she pulled the shirt over her head, and she let both fall on the floor and stood up to work on the pants.

"You're magnificent."

His tone was warm and affectionate. She straightened and turned as she stepped out of the pants, and put a hand to her head, where her hair was taking on a life of its own. They stood across the bed from each other for a moment, then she picked up the corner of the blanket and he followed her example, shifting around until they were under the sheet in the middle of the bed. He rolled on his side and reached for her; she returned the passionate kiss, touched his face, and let him pull her over to lay on his chest as he settled on his back.

"Hello," she murmured, smiling, rubbing her cheek against his chest. His hand came to rest on her head, and she felt his fingers tugging gently through her hair.

"It is an imponderable," he said, the words vibrating against her cheek.

"Hmmm?"

"Why a Betazoid on the chest can set a man at ease."

"That might have more to do with the individuals than the species." She chuckled and enjoyed the warmth of his body, and of his emotions.

"This is the kind of night I typically stay awake til morning. But for some reason, I'm quite relaxed."

"I could go into great detail about physiological changes in the body in response to skin-on-skin contact with another person. But I am tired as well and doubt that the lecture will benefit either of us."

He groaned and his hand came to rest on the back of her neck. She shifted her hips and slid most of her weight to the side, angling herself so she could keep her head on his chest, and they lay for a while enjoying each other's proximity.

 

* * *

 

 

Jean-Luc came awake slowly, and it was typical -- he always awakened when Deanna got up, leaving him with an empty space next to him in the bed. He ran his hand down his face and groaned, staring up at the stars and noting that there was a moon to starboard. So they were at Galisi, in orbit.

"Picard to Data."

"Yes, Captain, Data here."

"Status?"

"We are in a standard orbit at Galisi. Currently the colony is on the night side of the planet. It will be six hours until dawn. We are conducting scans of the planet's surface and of the moons, and we have found nothing yet."

"Good. Keep me apprised. Picard out."

Deanna came out of the bathroom, was momentarily backlit until the light went out, and walked slowly back to the bed. "Are we getting up now?"

"No, we'll meet with the colonists in seven hours or so. Come here."

She slid back into bed, crawling to him, coming to put an arm around him as she settled into his. Despite his inability to see her face and her silence, he had the distinct impression something was wrong. He caressed her back, letting his hand come to rest on her hip.

"Is something bothering you?"

"Yes. But nothing about you," she said faintly.

"Anything I can do?"

She moaned and he felt her nose and chin against his shoulder and his neck. "I don't think so."

"Will was difficult to talk to?"

"I knew it would be difficult, but I didn't expect him to be so cold. Somehow I thought we would be able to make amends, now that time has passed. I -- " It sounded like she might have started to cry. "It feels as though I've lost a friend. I want to think it's repairable, but he's never done this to me before."

"Perhaps more time is needed." He thought about his own conversation with Will; the other captain had been a little more distant than usual, but not unusually so, and Jean-Luc had thought that Will might be tired or distracted.

"If I were superstitious I would believe the universe was conspiring against me," she murmured. "Running into Tom Riker after all this time. And Caleb had to be aboard the _Valiant_ \-- it's strange how it works out sometimes."

"Caleb?"

"He was a cadet at the Academy -- he took pleasure in hazing me. I failed my first attempt at a survival exercise, because I was much more easily overwhelmed by extreme pain then. One of the other cadets broke a leg and it was almost debilitating for me. I could barely think. We failed as a group by not completing the mission. So Caleb decided to hold a grudge, and make the rest of my final year at the Academy miserable."

"A bully," Jean-Luc summarized, thinking about himself at that age. "I hope that he has seen the error of his ways and matured since then."

"I assigned him quarters -- haven't seen him yet. But it's inevitable, since he is the first officer."

"I wasn't so kind and gentle as a cadet, either, you know. He'll be well behaved."

She sighed, her breath tickling his neck. "I want that to be true. But I am glad that the first contact will likely be in a staff meeting, so you'll be there."

"Deanna," he scolded mildly.

She was silent -- more upset, he thought. He further considered the situation, coming awake a little more, and recognized what he was doing. He reached across, turning on his left side, kissing her gently, getting her attention. He could taste the salt tears on her lips.

"You have irrational fears that you know you can overcome and you are asking me for support," he murmured. "You're not asking the captain for help with a personal issue. I think I can manage that."

She laughed, but he heard the tears in her voice -- such brittle, angry laughter. "I shouldn't have said anything."

"No, _ma belle,_ you should. This is another risk. We talk endlessly about the personal interfering with duty, we don't think about the other side of that issue. You should talk to me if you need to talk." He kissed her forehead, pulling her against his chest. "I have had the impression that you've been keeping things to yourself, perhaps thinking that I wouldn't want to be bothered?"

She laughed again, but cried -- moved as if uncomfortable, but settled again with him and draped her arm over his waist again. "I'm feeling like a failure lately. First the battle, and then this situation with Will. I guess I don't want to bother you with it, because I already know I'll work it out but -- "

He waited, but she seemed unable to continue. "I wonder what Counselor Troi would suggest to us."

"Sometimes I wish I wasn't a counselor," she said, rolling away and raising a hand to her face.

He shoved himself up on an elbow and studied her in the moonlight. The ship had moved, and the moon was starting to fill the viewport. "It's a good thing you have me, then. You don't need to be my counselor. I shouldn't have asked. Even in jest."

"I know what you were trying to do. I appreciate it. Sometimes I ask myself the same question, think about situations and wonder if it were someone else what I would advise them to do -- but it doesn't work in every situation." She put her hand down, gazed at him instead of off somewhere else. "I'm sorry that I haven't been as forthcoming as before. But I find myself second guessing -- I thought about it today, you are the first man I have lived with, and also one of the longest standing friendships I have. And I don't think it's been difficult at all. We talk, we eat, we go on duty and we return, it all feels very comfortable."

"And I enjoy that. But you're still waiting for something to happen, aren't you?"

"Because I don't want anything to happen to us," she said softly. "But I keep puzzling away as if trying to work with a difficult client. And each time someone questions, I worry that they are right and I'm missing something. Beverly really is worried about us."

"The counselor's intuition is telling us something. But my intuition tells me something else. At least we have complimentary insecurities," he said, amused by the situation -- she'd always been so confident in her office. He wondered how many of her reassurances had been false confidence on her part.

Her laughter this time was the kind he liked, amused, enjoying herself, and with no sign of insecurity or pain. "I may have to create a new therapeutic approach based on the collected sayings of Jean-Luc Picard. I like that. Complimentary insecurities."

"You could name it after me. A fine bit of irony that would be."

"What is your intuition telling you?"

He wrapped one of her curls around his finger, tugged it straight, let it go -- it recoiled and lay on her bare shoulder. "That we have plenty of time for sex."

"Oh," she blurted, beaming, wriggling underneath the blanket in a very appealing manner. "Do we? Is your intuition certain there won't be another red alert, a sudden crisis requiring your immediate attention?"

He glanced at the viewports overhead, around the room, and gave her a one-shouldered shrug.

"Your intuition and my libido must be collaborating."

"Wait. This is the first I've heard from your libido. I was presuming that your libido spoke using your hands."

She was giving him a disapproving look. "Do you want my libido to talk to your presumption, or to your libido?"

"Let me ask." He reached down and managed the gymnastics that made it possible to take off his shorts in bed, beneath the covers. Tossed the shorts in the general direction of the closet. "My libido and my presumption concur that the discussion should be tabled and the conversation terminated."

Deanna threw back the covers, straddled him and leaned down to kiss him, her hands on his shoulders. His hands found her hips as she settled back slowly, more than ready for intercourse to commence.

"I do enjoy what your libido tells me," she murmured, as her lips glided along his cheek. Her teeth grazed his ear lobe as she began to work her hips and begin the magic -- she purred as he cupped her breast in his hand, arched her back when he guided it toward his mouth.

He felt no insecurities when they were making love. It was clear that she enjoyed pleasuring him, and so more and more he took his pleasure, when the opportunity arose. She liked the slow burn, liked to build the tension and use him to find her way to sweaty orgasms to share with him. They were never more connected than they were during sex, and he could tell she was working on taking them to the point of overloading his senses. He wouldn't remember the most intense part of it, but he did enjoy the buildup and the aftermath.

He came back to consciousness to find himself panting and hot all over, the covers kicked completely off the bed, and she sprawled next to him, her body flushed and sweaty and her hair wild around her head. She hummed and gazed at him through her lashes, smiling and looking sated.

"Magnificent."

"My libido loves your libido," she said, moving her foot to rub his calf with her toes.

"I haven't taken a vote on how many of my characteristics or body parts are in love with yours. I anticipate that it is unanimous."

"Does your intuition know whether we have time for a bath, or should I run through the sonic shower?"

"Computer, time," he sang out.

"The time is zero five twenty-three."

Deanna swung her feet to the floor and left the bed. "Computer, fill the bathtub, at my preferred temperature."

"My intuition is not well informed in matters of time," he said, getting up to follow her. A muscle in his left thigh made itself known with the movement. "I should stretch before we do that."

"Hot bath will help," she said, glancing over her shoulder at him.

"So will a massage," he said, with a hopeful lilt in his voice.

She paused in the bathroom door, the light coming on automatically, and smiled as he caught up. Taking his hand, she led him in to the bathtub, where steaming water was flowing from the spigot.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Beverly got up when the computer announced the time, on time, as she'd asked it to. Her sickbay had been in a shambles and full of injured for hours yesterday, and she'd stumbled into her borrowed cabin exhausted, following the computer's direction to the quarters assigned to her on _Enterprise_ after seeing her many patients to more alert caregivers in _Enterprise's_ sickbay. She got ready in a haze, still tired, replicating a new uniform, and as she ate breakfast she recognized that she'd been given Deanna's old quarters.

"Computer, any messages for me?" she asked, drinking the last of her coffee and taking the dishes to be recycled.

"There are three messages."

"Do I care about them?"

"Insufficient data."

"Who are the messages from?" She left quarters and headed for the lift.

"Captain Barregan. Dr. Tembla Pat. Dr. Carol Juarez."

Two colleagues and her commanding officer. She decided in the lift to listen to Barregan's message. It was short, a simple affirmation that she was temporarily assigned to the _Enterprise._ Captain by rote.  There were captains of all kinds, and Barregan would win the award for complete compliance with regulations, and boring.

In sickbay, she found herself feeling off -- it used to be her sickbay and it wasn't any longer, yet there was still the urge to give orders and request patient status. All the beds were full and staff were busy. Ogawa was gone -- Beverly had provided her a reference, when she'd asked. Mengis, the tall and dark replacement she'd never met, noticed her and came to shake her hand.

"Dr. Crusher. Welcome," he said, smiling. "We have a full house. You're more than welcome to help out as much as you want."

"How are my patients?" They moved right into shop talk, going from patient to patient, until they were interrupted by Data paging them to the morning briefing. Mengis gave a final order to one of his subordinates to page them if need be, and accompanied her in heading for the bridge.

"So how are you getting along here on the _Enterprise_?" Beverly asked, as they left for the nearest turbolift.

"It's been an interesting assignment. I have been finding the staff to be friendly, more so than other postings in fact, but at the same time...." She never got to find out what his complaint was. Mengis turned as the door opened a few seconds after it closed behind them, interrupting -- it took just that long to travel from one section of deck ten to another. Caleb Hendricks entered, in uniform as they were. He nodded to them and turned to face front as was the usual habit.

"Bridge," he said.

"Good morning, Commander," Beverly said. "This is Dr. Mengis, the chief medical officer of the _Enterprise_. Doctor, this is Commander Hendricks, our first officer."

"Doctor," Caleb said. He wasn't smiling; he usually did, often the forced professional smile, but a smile just the same.

"Everything all right?" she asked. He'd had a minor injury in the battle yesterday. 

"Fine."

Mengis exchanged a look with her that said he, too, could tell that it wasn't fine. They reached the bridge, and she led the way to the observation lounge, where Jean-Luc always had his briefings.

"Dr. Crusher," Data said, rising from his chair near the head of the table. "Commander Hendricks. Welcome aboard. Please, have a seat. Captain Picard will be here momentarily."

Beverly sat between Geordi and Mengis, and Caleb went around the table and sat next to the L'norim, deLio. She smiled at deLio; he nodded silently, which was pretty friendly for his species. The door opened again and Deanna came in, heading around to sit on deLio's right, at a right angle to the chair the captain would be in at the head of the table. The second officer Carlisle sat between Mengis and Data, and the helm officer was not present.

Beverly glanced at Deanna with a subdued smile, and got the same in return, but something in the counselor's expression suggested something was wrong. Of course, there was no way to ask right now. The door opened again and Jean-Luc came in, strode to the head of the table, glanced around as he sat down. "Good morning," he said crisply. "I'm sure we all know why we're here. To summarize -- we've stepped up to take the mission of finding and capturing the pirates who have been harassing Galisi. After we have apprehended them, we will return to the _Valiant_ and take her at warp three back to the starbase. Commander Hendricks and Dr. Crusher have joined us for the duration of the mission -- welcome, Commanders. Mr. Data, you have been running sensor sweeps, what are your findings?"

"There are indications that the vessels that attacked the _Valiant_ came to Galisi, Captain," Data said. "The ion trails converged here. Scans of the planet's surface and its moons have not located them, however, and we are only detecting the colonists on the planet's surface. Mr. LaForge and I have concluded that the pirates must be using some form of cloaking device to conceal their presence."

"I reviewed the reports from the colonists as you requested," Deanna put in, and heads turned toward her. "There have been numerous thefts of colony property -- it might be useful to analyze the list of stolen equipment. We might be able to determine how they are cloaking themselves, if they used materials from the colony to create the device they are using. Habar's records indicate that they were aware of the group prior to the first theft, but he assumed that they would make friendly contact -- they were aware that other groups of colonists would arrive, as the plan is for Galisi to be a mixed colony, with communities from several worlds. They did not anticipate hostility. Likely they would have given them supplies, if they had been approached and the request made openly."

"I will be taking a team to the surface," Jean-Luc said. "Counselor, you and I will meet with the leader of the colony, while Mr. Data and his team examines the facilities from which equipment and supplies have been stolen, for evidence that may give us insight into the identities of these pirates. And Mr. LaForge will analyze the reported stolen equipment as well as the specifications for the vessels they are using, to see if he can determine how they might be cloaking their base of operations."

"Sir," Caleb said. "I would like to be included on the away team."

"You will assist Mr. Data in his investigation of the evidence available, and the assessment of their security, to make recommendations on improving it." Jean-Luc glanced around the table, nodded curtly, and looked to Geordi. "Mr. LaForge, have you an update on our repairs?"

"Our gamma shift completed repairs on schedule, sir," Geordi said. "We have all systems online and fully functional. Alpha shift will complete a level one diagnostic."

"Anything else?" Jean-Luc paused, then glanced at Mengis. "Doctor?"

"All of the injured from the _Valiant_ are stable and recovering. Dr. Crusher and I will be ready for any additional patients, as usual."

"Good. Thank you, Dr. Crusher, for your help. If there is nothing else, you are dismissed. We will beam down in an hour, make use of the time to review pertinent information from the colony's reports if need be. I will be in my ready room until then. Counselor, I would like to discuss the colonists with you prior to our meeting with Minister Anarra."

Everyone stood up, and started to move out of the room. Beverly sat for a moment longer and met Deanna's eyes -- Dee nodded and got up too, walked around behind the captain's chair, and joined her in leaving. Behind them Beverly heard Caleb ask for a moment with the captain, but she followed Deanna from the room onto the bridge.

Deanna led her across to the ready room and into it. "Want something to drink?"

"No," Beverly said, watching her go to the replicator alcove. She returned with a tea service and placed it in front of the sofa near the door, on the low table. "What's wrong?"

Deanna sat down, and Beverly took one of the two chairs facing the sofa. "Caleb showed up at our door this morning. He found out I was senior staff and looked me up, and followed the computer's directions to my quarters. He didn't even look at the names on the door. Jean-Luc walked out of the bedroom just as Caleb asked me to have dinner with him."

"Oh," Beverly exclaimed. "Did you know Caleb before?"

"You could say that." Deanna's frown was an angry one, a rarity for her.

They were interrupted by the door -- Jean-Luc came in and marched to the sofa, sitting down next to Deanna. He glanced at Beverly, at the tea service, and turned to Deanna. She was still frowning, and waited for him to speak.

"He apologized to me, again," Jean-Luc said. "I informed him that I was not the one to whom he should be apologizing."

"He shouldn't have shown up at your door that way. I don't know what he was thinking," Beverly said, shaking her head. "I'm afraid I don't really know him all that well, considering we've been on the same vessel for months. The atmosphere on the _Valiant_ is very different, not nearly as friendly as it is here. I don't even attend all the senior staff briefings."

"Caleb was at the Academy when I was in my final year -- he was a bully, at least to me," Deanna said. She watched Jean-Luc prepare a cup of tea. "The last thing I expected him to do was show up and apologize, then ask me out to dinner."

"I'm afraid I have to ask you to table this discussion," Jean-Luc said. "We honestly do need to discuss the mission." He handed Deanna the tea. "Beverly, you should come to dinner."

"I'll see you later, hopefully not before dinner, because that would mean someone got hurt," Beverly said, rising. She left the ready room and zipped up the bridge to the lift. Once inside, she exhaled, shaking her head, and asked for deck eight. She wanted a respite in the empty quarters to find her calm before returning to sickbay. A cup of tea sounded good.

The lift redirected itself. She almost asked the computer to not do it, but waited, and when the doors opened of course, of course, Caleb was the one to come in. He looked at her for a moment and then said, "Computer, deck eleven. Hi Beverly."

"Hello, Caleb," she said, trying to smile. "How are you?"

"I've had better days, let me tell you," he said with a dramatic roll of his pale blue eyes.

"I know -- embarrassing to be caught out by a bunch of pirates," she said.

"Not what I'm talking about, though that was bad enough. Picard is being petty."

" _What_? What did you just say?"

He turned to stare at her anew. "That's right -- this was your last posting, wasn't it? I can see why you left."

"Caleb... you're talking about Captain Picard," she said, reaching out to punch the hold. The lift stopped moving. "This is the flagship. He's been in command for more than a decade and I was aboard for all but two years of it. He isn't petty."

"Well, maybe you don't know him as well as you think. He's got a grudge, excluding me from the meeting with the colonists because I made a mistake. She's probably told him all about how we didn't get along at the Academy and now he's punishing me."

Beverly thought about the relaxing cup of tea she was on her way to have, and chose her words carefully. "I think you need to be calmer before you decide that. Captain Picard is a veteran officer, with a reputation for carefully considered decisions. He doesn't do what you're suggesting."

Caleb's dismay was immediate. He stood back from her, eyes narrowing suspiciously.

"Did you ask him why he wants you to help Data instead of going with him to discuss the mission with the colonists?"

He punched the hold and the lift resumed. "You think that would go over well? The man snapped at me this morning!"

"If you walk into the captain's quarters uninvited at breakfast that can happen," she said.

"Especially if he has his girlfriend there," Caleb exclaimed, angry to the point now that his fair cheeks turned red. The lift stopped, the doors opened, and he rushed through and down the corridor.

Beverly gaped and watched him go until the door snapped shut. The lift started again. "Oh, hell," she muttered, leaning against the wall of the turbolift car.

 

* * *

 

 

Jean-Luc walked with Deanna to the turbolift to leave the bridge. They had finished a discussion of the Betazoid colony, and Betazoid customs, then fallen to talking about the Maquis. "Starfleet has issued no general order on the former Federation citizens that continue to live in the hinterlands, but many of them have criminal charges that have been filed against them. I was surprised to find that Tom Riker is one of them. Evidently he abandoned his post on the _Hood_ , committed a series of smaller thefts, and eventually stole a Defiant class vessel from Deep Space Nine during the war."

"I looked at his record this morning," Deanna said. "He was captured by the Cardassians. He must have been in one of their labor camps. Many of those were abandoned after the war."

"Deck eight," Jean-Luc said, setting the lift in motion. He stood for a moment or two, then said, "Are you all right?"

"I am as good as I can be, at this time. I'll be happy when this mission is over."

He touched her shoulder, and let his hand drop. He agreed with her -- the mission was aggravating, as it once again reminded them of how far from exploration of the galaxy they had come, and how much was left to do to get back to it. That Starfleet couldn't send them support said a lot. And Caleb showing up in their quarters had been a miserable start to the day. She usually smiled more often, but she hadn't since they'd left their quarters for the bridge. He had focused on ship's business with determination but caught himself noticing her unhappiness when he had the opportunity. Had the man done more to make her miserable?

"We should look into Casperia," he said quietly as they left the lift. "I think you would enjoy it."

She walked the corridor to their door, went into their quarters, turning to look at him, waiting for the door to close behind them. "Would you?"

"Well, as I understand it, you would be there. So I assume that I would."

She smiled at last. "What do you want to do with our last fifteen minutes before we have to meet Habar?"

"Tell me what Hendricks said before I came out of the bedroom."

The smile vanished, as he expected, but he felt he should know sooner rather than later. "He greeted me, he said he saw me on the roster and came to talk to me. He wanted to clear the air before the mission, make sure there was no hard feelings. He apologized to me for his behavior at the Academy." She crossed her arms and shrugged a little. "And then he asked me to have dinner with him. I was so stunned by the question that he went on to start flattering me -- and then I tried to say that I wasn't interested which was where you came in."

"Well, I believe -- " He frowned as the annunciator sounded. "Come!"

Beverly came in. From her expression, something was afoot. "I know you're about to beam down. I wanted to tell you that Caleb is angry and believes you're punishing him for hitting on Deanna, by ordering him to work with Data instead of going with you to speak with Minister Anarra."

"What?" Deanna blurted, incredulous.

Beverly crossed her arms. "My impression of Caleb has been that he really wants to promote, but he lacks some of the initiative he needs. He tends to complain and take things a little too personally. He does all right with Barregan because Robert is pretty much a captain by the numbers, you can predict what he'll do about something. I think he sees your assignment as exclusion -- like he isn't important enough to be on a team with you."

"Well, he can be misguided, but we have a mission to conduct. If he can't follow orders he needs to step off." Jean-Luc started to turn for the door.

"I'm saying that I think he might let it affect his behavior on the mission," Beverly said. "Otherwise I wouldn't have warned you."

"Thank you, Dr. Crusher." Jean-Luc glanced at Deanna. "Let's go."

The team in the transporter room with Data consisted of three operations officers and Caleb. "You have the coordinates, Mr. Carmichael?" Jean-Luc asked the transporter operator.

"Aye, sir."

The pad was crowded, but they beamed down in one group. They materialized in a square, on pavement, surrounded by single-story buildings. There were a few people watering plants in yards that stopped to stare at them. Jean-Luc turned to Data. "Mr. Data, you and Mr. Hendricks will divide the work -- there are multiple sites from which materials and equipment were stolen, we need a thorough look each area for evidence. I recommend two teams. You will beam back to the ship when done. The counselor and I will confer with Minister Habar and return to the ship after our meeting."

Throughout, as he spoke, he glanced from face to face. Hendricks did look sullen. At the end of his instructions Data nodded and turned to the other commander, and spoke to him with his normal pleasant demeanor. Jean-Luc turned to go, and he heard Deanna's footsteps behind him as he strode off toward the largest of the buildings, painted in blue and gray. He couldn't read the sign but assumed that it must be some sort of official building. As he reached a point in the paved walk where another branched to the right, he heard Deanna tell him to wait, stopped, turned to look at her.

"Habar, Minister Anarra, is over there," she said, gesturing to the right. He noticed she looked dismayed, but said nothing and turned to walk toward a tall dark-haired man in a loose red tunic over gray pants. Habar met them in front of a smaller home. He smiled, clearly very happy to see them. His dark eyes met Jean-Luc's, then he turned to Deanna and laughed out loud, holding out his arms.

The words he spoke didn't translate, nor did Deanna's response. Jean-Luc realized he had never heard her speak in Betazoid, and the lack of translation seemed to suggest there was a reason for that. He watched them raise their hands to each other and go through the ritual greeting she had described to him, and when Habar turned to him, he raised his hands. It startled the minister, and then he beamed at him, raised his hands, and slowly moved through the gestures with him. Habar bowed slightly at the end.

"Captain Picard," he said, in a high tenor. "An unexpected but welcome surprise, to find you are family."

That was enough to knock him off script, disrupt his approach to the situation -- and he saw that Deanna was as alarmed as he was, turning to him with wide eyes and open mouth. She recovered more quickly. "What do you mean?"

"You are  _hajira,_ " he said, as if that was obvious. He frowned upon observing their confusion. "I'm sorry, please come with me to my home. Welcome to Galisi." 

He led them to one of the houses, and in the front door. It was obvious from the sparsely-furnished interior that this colony was only starting out. Jean-Luc took a seat in one of the low, fabric-covered chairs and accepted a beverage their host brought for them. Habar sat on the other side of the table and regarded Deanna sympathetically. 

"It occurs to me that you may not know what it is," he said. "Your mother is well known for being more focused on the present than in anything... instructive."

"No, I know what it is," she replied quietly. "You surprised me, however. I hadn't thought that such a thing might be possible. But we are not here to discuss personal matters."

"True enough. I must say, it's been a very long time since I have seen you -- I believe we were twelve? I'm glad to see you are doing so well. Your mother of course keeps the family well informed about your accomplishments." He paused, glancing back and forth between them. "You did not believe  _hajira_ was possible? But it is plain to see that it is."

Deanna was having difficulty raising her head at this point, but she smiled and said, "Habar, if there is time later, I do want to speak to you further about this, and catch up -- but we are here to help you with these people who have been raiding your colony."

"Of course. I don't believe there is any urgency however. We can tell you where the raiders are. The last raid was a week ago. What we lack is the ability to defend our colony. My brother was injured when he attempted to stand guard the night they came."

"I have officers examining the storage areas you identified in your report," Jean-Luc said. "Our sensor sweeps show nothing -- we theorize that they have built a cloak of some kind, to conceal their location."

Habar stood and went to the corner of the room, plucked the monitor from a desk, and brought it back to place on the table. "Computer, show the map of the colony." The monitor came to life and he pointed out the facilities that were pillaged, zoomed the map out, and indicated the area that he believed to be their base of operations. It appeared to be more than five hundred miles to the south. "It's a valley, with many trees and a stream. We considered establishing ourselves there but ultimately opted to choose this location, due to the proximity to grasslands. We have among us farmers who prefer to grow food, the plains are ideal for our crops. Our replicators serve us well, but we intend to provide natural choices in addition to them."

"How do you know these raiders are there?" Jean-Luc asked.

Habar turned to Deanna. She nodded, and turned to Jean-Luc. "There are several thousand Betazoids in the colony."

"Of course," he replied with a smile. "How dense I am."

"I can sense one of them very well, Habar," Deanna said. "There is a former Starfleet officer among them whom I have met."

"We attempted to make contact with them. I would have entertained the idea of inviting them to join us, establish their own colony, help them. But they were not interested in discussion." Habar was regarding Deanna with an amused smile. "You can sense them though they are far from here? They come in a small vessel, and leave that way. We only detected them ourselves when our shuttles were doing surveys across the continent. The team landed and sensed the raiders close by, so took the shuttle and investigated -- they were attacked by several of the raiders' vessels and fled, barely escaping in one piece. That shuttle is being repaired, but one of the engines likely needs to be replaced and the parts we needed and some of the equipment to effect those repairs were stolen."

"I will have our engineer look at the shuttle, and once our teams have finished examining and documenting the damage to your facilities, we'll upgrade the security measures on them. My quartermaster is preparing to beam down replacement supplies and equipment once that's completed," Jean-Luc said. "Until we have addressed the issue of the raiders I am putting officers on watch around the perimeter of the colony."

"I appreciate your willingness to help us defend the colony, Captain," Habar said. 

"That's only the first step. The  _Valiant_ was severely damaged in a battle with the raiders, and we must return to help them back to the starbase. I intend to have the raiders in our custody as quickly as possible, with no loss of lives. Our first step is assessing the situation. When we have enough information, when we know how many there are and their defense and offense strength, we can determine what to do to capture them and recover what was stolen." Jean-Luc turned to Deanna. "I am returning to the ship. If you wish to remain and talk to the minister, you may do so."

"I would, thank you, sir," she replied. "If I discover any more useful information I will contact you."

"Thank you, Minister, I will speak to you again when I have more information." He stood, as did Habar, and left the house. On the walk outside, he stopped and tapped his badge. "Picard to Data. What is your status?"

"Sir, we are about to conclude our examination of the storage facility on the west end of the colony. I am joining Mr. Hendricks at the other site momentarily, and beam aboard upon the conclusion of his investigation."

"Good. I will be in my ready room. Bring Mr. Hendricks to discuss your findings. Counselor Troi will remain here with the minister, for the time being."

"Aye sir. We will be there shortly."

"Picard to  _Enterprise._ One to beam aboard."

 

* * *

 

 

"He's very focused," Habar said. "May I get you some more tea?"

Deanna shook her head. "But thank you. He's frustrated that Starfleet was not able to send more support, and yes, he is very focused on the mission. These are very likely mostly Maquis, trying to find a place to be after the war, and some of them are former Starfleet who abandoned their post. He has strong feelings about that sort of thing."

"Yes, I can tell. It surprises me that you are  _hajira._ He seems... forgive me, Standard is not my best language, would 'hard' be the correct term?" It was accompanied by telepathy, supplying his meaning, and she smiled at the openness of a civilian who had no anger or suspicion in him.

"He isn't always as hard as he is today. Anger and the inability to change that which he finds unacceptable has something to do with it. We'll be able to capture the raiders easily, if there are only forty-two of them as you say."

"I would suppose that he softens for the right person," Habar said. "And clearly that would be you. How long have you been with him?"

"We have worked together for years, but a few months ago he approached me and informed me that his feelings had changed and we decided together to pursue a more intimate relationship."

Habar said nothing about that but she could sense his shock. "How is your mother? I saw her before we left Betazed last year. She seemed well, and very happy as always."

It was always difficult when people asked about Mother. Some were more aware than others about her mother's idiosyncrasies, and Mother often didn't tell her which of her many associates knew her well. "She's doing very well. Although I don't hear from her sometimes for weeks and months -- she loves traveling. How are your parents?"

"They were planning to come live with us here. But I hope they delay until we are sure this issue is resolved. They are quite old now, but healthy. I am wanting my children to see them more often. It's a long trip to Betazed from here." Habar leaned down to turn off the monitor, picked up his glass, and sipped his own tea. "You don't get to Betazed as often as you want, I imagine. The news is describing difficulties, and I am sure that it is understating and omitting many details."

"I haven't been back in two years. The war was very taxing on Starfleet resources.  I hope that it will continue to improve." Deanna paused. "Can you tell me more about how you know we are  _hajira_?"

"It's fairly obvious to me. Have you never met anyone with such a bond?"

"I don't know. But as an empath I am not so telepathic as other Betazoids. I'm only able to be with Mother, or with someone to whom I am very close -- there have been two with whom I could exchange thoughts."

Habar smiled knowingly. "Your  _hajira_ would be one, no doubt. But this has less to do with telepathy than you think."

"How many people have you met who are bonded this way?"

"Not very many. I know two pairs, have met one other, but I am not so gregarious as your mother - she has many friends on Betazed. Perhaps you should ask her. Would you like a tour of our colony?"

Deanna spent another half hour talking to Habar about the colony and seeing different parts of it -- there were some gardens flourishing, and they passed the school and the medical facility. She returned to the ship when their tour was interrupted by another colonist who wanted to talk to the minister about some urgent matter. She made her way to the bridge, knowing the captain would be there and she needed to inform him that she had returned, and determine whether he had further orders for her before returning to her regularly-scheduled appointments.

When she signaled for admittance at the ready room door, she sensed that Caleb was inside, and as she came in she was relieved to see Data was there as well. She hesitated, but Jean-Luc met her eyes over the heads of the other two and gestured for her to come. So she came to stand at the end of the desk, since there were no other chairs there. Caleb stared up at her as if she had done something to annoy him. Data smiled and gave her a nod, and she returned the gesture.

"Habar was called away. I learned little else that would inform the mission. Is there anything else, sir?"

"We will be having a briefing first thing in the morning. Security will patrol the colony this afternoon and tonight, and after the briefing tomorrow we should have a plan of attack, to apprehend the raiders. We'll see you in the briefing." Jean-Luc almost said something more, but refrained; he was frustrated and a little angry, she sensed, and so she nodded and started for the door.

"I will be in my office, Captain, if I'm needed." She smiled at Caleb. "Commander Hendricks, are you finding your quarters satisfactory?"

It caught him off guard. He lost some of the ire in his face. "Yes. Thank you."

"If you need anything let me know." She turned and headed out of the ready room.

Carlisle was on watch; he nodded as she went right and up the bridge, and she smiled at him and then at deLio, who stood at tactical. In the lift she plexed and groaned aloud, leaning against the wall. The door opened on deck ten and she walked down to her office.

"Computer, what appointments are left for today?"

"There are none scheduled. Two cancellations."

She dropped into her chair behind the desk. "Show me my schedule for the week." The grid on the monitor told the tale; her two clients that afternoon were in security, and likely had been sent down to guard the colony. The three before lunch had been automatically canceled by the computer when she was assigned to the away team. A headache had started behind her forehead; she realized that she'd had no lunch, and since no one would be there, she got up and went to sickbay, to take advantage of the break room. Happily, it was empty.

At least she got to eat a meal before the next interruption. Her badge chirped, and she swallowed a bite of food as Natalia Greenman's voice said, "Greenman to Troi."

"Yes, Natalia, how can I help you?" Counselor Troi always sounded so much more happy than Deanna felt, when things were stressful.

"I know my next appointment is scheduled for next week but I was wondering if I could see you today."

"I can meet with you in twenty minutes. Does that work?"

"Yes, thank you."

Deanna recycled her plate and left the break room. Mengis had come to sickbay with Beverly and they were standing over one of the patients; Beverly glanced at her and they exchanged a brief smile as Deanna left. Back in her office, she brought up notes from previous meetings with Natalia, and spent a few moments reviewing then the rest of the time in meditation to prepare. When the chime sounded she managed to be smiling as she let the ensign in.

Natalia often seemed younger than she was, when she was about to talk about her personal difficulties. She moved to the couch and sat at the other end from Deanna, her posture suggesting she was ill at ease in her own body. Her eyes were red-rimmed already. 

"What do you want to talk about?" Deanna asked softly, folding her hands in her lap.

"I'm just really having a bad week. I can't stop thinking about my dad," she said, dropping her gaze and hunching her shoulders a little more.

"Did you try any of the techniques we talked about before?"

"Yes, I did. It sort of worked. But -- " She already knew what Deanna was going to say. So she kept looking at the floor, her short blond hair angling forward over her cheeks, her hands tightly meshed in front of her on one knee. 

Deanna had to set aside her own feelings, as she remembered missing her own father in the same way that Natalia was grieving. This was clearly a complicated and still bothersome loss -- Natalia was going through drills in security, and one of the holodeck simulations had involved Borg drones. Natalia had panicked, and the memory of losing her father had come up strongly, as he had been a casualty at Wolf 359. The ensuing counseling sessions had stuttered along, with her effort to work through it hampered by being unable to speak at times. It was a good thing Deanna was accustomed to silence.

"I -- " Natalia struggled for another few seconds. "Do you think the captain would mind if I talked to him about it?"

That was a first -- Deanna frowned. She took a moment to choose words. "We are in the middle of a mission at the moment. I think it's a bad time to consider that."

"I had a dream, last night," Natalia whispered. Pain flitted across her face. "I can't stop thinking he's still alive."

Deanna tried to sigh very quietly. "Do you think that's possible?"

It was a long lurching hour, of back and forth between what she knew rationally and the powerful desire to find her father and rescue him. By the time the ensign left, Deanna was tired -- it wasn't as bad as helping Captain Picard recovering from assimilation, but she'd gone into the session already feeling drained and stressed, and now she wanted to find a corner and meditate. Or sleep.

She left the office and headed for her quarters, after noting the session in her records. She rode alone in the lift and walked slowly down the corridor, feeling numb. From the other direction she heard footfalls on the thin carpeting. To her dismay, as she reached the door, Caleb strode into view along the curve of the corridor, and she waited as he approached.

"Hello," she said, putting on the counselor's smile again. "Is everything all right?"

It surprised him again. He blinked, and recovered in a few seconds. "I don't know."

"I know this morning was awkward," she said. "We didn't have a chance to really talk before the captain ordered us to the bridge."

That set his thin lips in a thinner line, and his brow wrinkled. "No kidding."

"Come in. If you wish. I'm exhausted, I was just heading in to change out of the uniform." She turned and went in, half hoping he would leave.

He followed though, very slowly as if thinking he would be jumped. She got herself some of her usual tea, and he declined a beverage. Rather than sit on the couch she took a chair at the table, putting her cup in front of her. He came and sat down stiffly.

"I'm sorry that things were so chaotic this morning," she said. "Nothing went as it was supposed to, today."

He stared at her anew. At the collar of her uniform, in fact. "You promoted? A full commander?" He was proving to be less observant than she would have expected.

"I took the bridge test, yes. Quite some time ago now. I have been thinking lately of changing directions. Pursuing command instead of continuing as a counselor."

His eyes narrowed, and she regretted allowing her weariness and her heritage take over -- after being with Habar, she had let her guard down. "You are?"

"You know, it's been nearly twenty years since we graduated. I expect that you may have changed a bit since then?" she said, attempting to challenge him to shift perspective. "I know I've done a lot of work on myself over the years."

"I'll say," he said, his gaze dropping down and sweeping back up to her face.

She glared at him, and wondered why she thought this would be any different than this. "Have you been offered a starship yet? I know they need more captains."

The dig obviously struck home despite her curious tone. He grimaced and shook his head. She didn't expect him to reply at that point but he said, "I think Barregan has it in for me. Not all of us can work our way to the top the easy way."

It was her turn to frown. She raised her head defiantly without thinking about it, and tried to shake off the anger. "You seem to have a bad habit, Caleb. I am surprised you haven't rid yourself of the problem of making unfounded assumptions -- obviously it's dogged you since the Academy. And you also seem determined not to change your opinion of me despite the fact that most people change as they age. Until you have reassessed your bias and decided to find out more about me and about Captain Picard to adjust your inaccurate perception, I'm afraid I no longer have much interest in casual conversation with you. I had genuinely hoped that wouldn't happen, but here we are. I'll see you in the morning at the briefing, Commander." She stood up and waited for him to leave.

Which he did, after a moment of shocked staring, and she went to the couch to sink into the cushion and cover her face with her hands.

Jean-Luc came in some time later, and she tried to smile up at him. He sat down with her, shoulder to shoulder. "Beverly will be here shortly for dinner. How are you?"

"I tried to talk to Hendricks. I hoped he had changed -- I'm afraid he's not changed enough," she said wearily. "I wish that I could do something about that."

"I would rather not talk to him at all. Data has had to explain too much to him -- I think he's possibly the least intuitive officer I've met. But I am less interested in him than I am in you," he said, turning to her. "Deanna, he can't hurt us. There's nothing he could do -- making frivolous accusations would only get him in trouble."

"We know that what people believe is more powerful than what they observe, sometimes. I hope he at least sees well enough to know it would be pointless." She plexed for a moment, eyes closed. "I'll go change into something comfortable."

"I love you," he said. It was unusual enough to distract her from her own feelings and tune her in more to his emotions. She raised her eyes to meet his, and had to smile with him.

"You'll need to do more than that to distract me, I think." The suggestive tone of voice generated reciprocal interest in him.

"Ah, the challenge -- but I'll respond to it when we aren't expecting a friend to arrive."

But he put his arm around her, and she leaned against him, closing her eyes. The moments of comfort helped immensely to return her to a less fearful state of mind. When the computer announced Beverly's arrival they stood up as one, and she disappeared into the bedroom to change and wash her face.

Deanna put on a short teal dress and some black hose, rearranged her hair, and spent a moment staring at her reflection in the mirror. Betazoids tended to age slowly, compared to many other species, but she had indeed changed -- she'd been thinner and less self aware, less intuitive, as a young woman at the Academy. Her final year had been the low point of her life. Will Riker had broken her heart and while she wasn't proud of her reaction to that she had admit to herself that it had taught her a lot. Caleb was the first time she'd had to confront that part of her past in a long, long time.

Putting on a smile, she returned to the living area, just as Beverly started to feel concern.  Her friend wore a simple blue dress, a shade darker than her departmental color. "I like your dress, Beverly. I like blue on you."

Beverly hugged her briefly. "Are you feeling better? You looked upset this morning."

"Forgive me, but I'd hoped we might talk about more pleasant subjects," Jean-Luc said, coming to hand them glasses of wine.

"What did Hendricks do now?" Beverly said, sounding frustrated.

"Maybe we'll talk about it after I have a bottle of wine," Deanna said.

Jean-Luc wrinkled his brow at her. "You don't talk in your sleep."

"That would make it the perfect time to discuss it," Deanna said, smiling happily at him.

"Shall we have dinner?" He exchanged a look with Beverly, who was watching the exchange with some dismay. But they said nothing further on the matter.

Deanna was tired of exotic cuisine -- she asked for a blue leaf salad, and modified it with some additional ingredients, including sunflower seeds and cranberries. She ate mechanically, thinking about as little as possible. Jean-Luc answered a few questions Beverly asked about some of their mutual friends, until they both went silent; when Deanna glanced up she found them watching her. She realized they had expected her to converse and she was being rude.

"I'm beginning to worry about you," Jean-Luc said. "Maybe you need counseling?"

"Oh -- " His smirk made her laugh. She shook her head, rolled her eyes. "What I need is chocolate."

"K'tarian chocolate puff, perhaps?" He knew that was a favorite of hers.

"That sounds decadent," Beverly said. "Seeing Caleb again must have really had an impact."

Deanna wilted inside at the reminder. And more, sensing her friend's reaction. She moaned and put her hand to her forehead, propping her elbow on the table.

"I'm torn," Jean-Luc said. He watched her with such a subdued smile. "Should I tell an anecdote from my own mistake-ridden past? Should I say nothing at all? Should I find a quotation or a -- "

"Caleb is an asshole," Deanna blurted. He was trying so hard to be funny, and she couldn't even be amused. It made her feel all the worse. "He leered at me and he implied that I have three pips because I slept with you. At the Academy, after the fiasco with the survival scenario, he was trying to convince the dean that I had deliberately failed the scenario, just to get back at him for doing essentially the same thing he did to me today. I refused a date with him, only that time I not only said 'no' I added a slap across the face after pitching the contents of my glass in his eyes. Because he only asked me because he heard from someone who heard from someone else that I was easy. So forgive me if I prefer not to sit in front of superior officers defending my behavior again, or attempting to prove a negative -- how was I supposed to substantiate pain that only I could sense in such a way that I was largely incapacitated? It ended inconclusively -- we were each given another chance at the test separately and both of us passed it, because no one broke bones when I took it the second time. Which of course Caleb's confirmation bias latched onto with fervor, as proof that he was right and I was lying. So having him show up this morning before I ate breakfast was the perfect way to lose my appetite for the day. I am sorry, I truly am, but I'm in a lousy mood for socializing -- excuse me."

She went into the bedroom and paced around while she pulled off earrings, tore the clip out of her hair, flinging them on the dressing table as she went by. Dropping to sit on the end of the bed after the fourth circuit, she crossed her arms across her abdomen and tried to stop, again, the fear of sitting in front of an admiral, or a panel of them, trying to explain the unprovable to the imperturbable.

When the door opened, she looked automatically. Jean-Luc strolled in and stood before her, still in uniform. He gestured at her. "Come on."

"Maybe I should -- " But she couldn't go back to her quarters and be miserable in solitude. She'd put Beverly in them. "I'm sorry, Jean. Did she already go?"

"Cygne, come with me."

"Should I change?" She glanced down and noticed her hose had a run in the left knee. She put a hand to her hair, self-conscious. "Where are we going?"

"The holodeck. You're fine as you are. Beverly could tell you are too upset and went back to her quarters. She'll be back for breakfast."

She wondered, because as they went she settled down and started to sense more from him, and he was worried. But she couldn't ask. It felt as though trying to talk any more at all would lead to sobbing, and she didn't want to do that.

They passed few people, all their own crew, and for some reason the holodeck was available. He must have reserved it. There were enough off-duty _Valiant_ crew aboard that she expected them to be busy. When they went in, a program was already running; she recognized his house in France, and stood in the front yard staring at the bright afternoon sky, blue and wispy white clouds, the breeze gently touching her face. Jean-Luc went around the house, though, and she followed him. 

"The treehouse?" she asked, as they reached the gnarled old oak. She took his hand and placed her completely-inappropriate dress shoe in the knot at the base of the tree, and climbed, heedless of her skirt. 

But when she came up to the platform she found a larger base with a trapdoor instead of just the small collection of nailed-together boards. There was a short ladder that made it easier to climb up and through, and as she stood up, she found herself in a room. There was a fire in a fireplace, a large white throw rug in front of it with some cushions piled to one side, a low table with a few items on it -- she turned to look around the windowless room as he came up from below and swung the trapdoor shut behind him.

"I thought I would make it a little more comfortable," he said, stepping up behind her and kissing the back of her neck. "Tell me what you want, cygne."

Deanna wanted to stop feeling the nagging pain in the pit of her stomach. His intent with the simulation was obvious, but he could tell she wasn't in the mood. "I want Hendricks to go back to his ship and to forget him entirely. I want to be able to set aside the thought of someone who matters finding out about us and actually question whether we are doing anything wrong."

"Computer, add the sofa to the simulation." A crescent-shaped white sofa materialized in front of them. He took her by the arm and led her around to sit with him. "You may want to know that I've already spoken to Admiral H'Nayison. There is no reason to be concerned -- he reiterated what we already know, that Starfleet doesn't interfere in personal matters of officers. Caleb isn't going to cause us any difficulty, Deanna."

She stiffened at the mention of H'Nayison, and tried to not feel overwhelmed by this -- he hadn't said a word about talking to an admiral, let alone the Judge Advocate General. It did explain some of what she'd sensed from him over the past day; now that she knew about it she thought she understood when he'd done it. There had been a tense period earlier, when he had been very focused and composed, as he typically was when speaking to a superior. 

"I need your help," he said softly, taking her hand. It helped her refocus and she turned to him. He smiled as their eyes met. "You always told me that when someone feels more anxiety than a situation warrants, that it might be an indication of trauma. I think that you would not be reacting this way to this whining little man, if not for what happened to you before. But I'm limited -- I don't know how to help you with this."

Laughter burst from her -- but tears followed on the heels of it. She put her palms over her eyes, caught her breath, and when she dropped her hands she took a cloth he was holding up for her and dabbed at her eyes with it. "Yes, you do."

"You were having a lot of difficulty with this today. I thought at times that you might try to talk to me about it, or maybe go to Beverly. But she was very worried when you walked out on dinner. She said you hadn't spoken to her since this morning, just after the briefing. And since you haven't talked to either of us, and I can tell you're anxious, I think you need help."

"I didn't want to bother you while you were on duty," she said, dropping her hands to her lap. It took an act of will not to fidget with the handkerchief she'd just used on her face.

"There was not a situation in progress that kept me from being able to take a moment for more personal business," he said. "I'm sure you know when it would be inappropriate. I expected it, but you didn't come to me. And that concerned me more. I started to wonder if you were upset with me, or expecting me to approach you."

"This is the first time a personal crisis has impacted duty, and it's actually taken a toll on me. And you're right that it would have helped to talk to you but I wanted to avoid even the appearance of impropriety." She took a deeper breath, and tried to settle the rest of the anxiety. "It isn't even a crisis now that I think about it. You're right that he has nothing to lodge a formal complaint about. He's just making noise."

"Yes. It's more important to me at this point that you can find a way to let me know what I can do to help with this sort of thing?"

Deanna moved closer along the sofa, threw her arms around his neck, and he leaned in to put his arms around her. After a moment of physical contact, during which she felt the knots in her stomach untie themselves and the pressure in her chest ease, she hummed a little and finally relaxed.

"Cygne." He leaned back a little, supporting more of her weight, and she felt his fingers in her hair. "Much better."

"Were you serious about Casperia? I could use a few days in your arms."

"We'll see what the schedule has in store. I have something for you." He sounded entirely too pleased with himself.

She sat up, and he reached over to the table and came back with a box. It was a small black cube of the proportions one would expect a ring to come in, so she held her breath -- but it proved to be a necklace, a silver chain with a pendant intricately cut in the shape of a swimming swan. "How exquisite," she exclaimed. "Thank you." She pulled it free of the insert and unfastened the chain, and he held up a hand -- she passed the necklace to him and turned so he could put it around her neck, holding her hair out of the way.

"A reminder, in case you ever question what you mean to me," he said. 

"It's perfect. I can wear it under my uniform." She turned from trying to look down at it on her chest to find him holding another box, this one full of chocolate. "Oh... you are very determined to make me smile. What kind?" She plucked one out and popped it in her mouth. "Delavian," she said around the mouthful of decadence. 

"Not a K'tarian chocolate puff, but almost as good," he said. Watching her enjoy the perfection of a rich, smooth mouthful of chocolate so perfectly balanced between the sweet and the dark was a happy occasion for him. He wasn't concerned any longer, which led to the realization that she had been his concern all along, and none of it had been about the mission. She finished the mouthful and took the box to put it aside.

"I should have come to you today, as you say," she said. "I'm sorry that I didn't check in with you. I didn't mean to make you worry about me. It seems I was a distraction either way, so I should have done something to alleviate that instead of continuing to distract."

"I have been trying to think of how to talk to you about something," he said, not meeting her eyes. "There have been times over the past month that I wondered if you have been having second thoughts."

Deanna sobered quickly at that. "About us?"

"I confess that I have occasionally looked at this from the outside and thought that I might be suffering from denial -- but I don't believe that I am, if I think about you. The officer that you are, and the high standard that you hold yourself to. I know you, and I know that we have never compromised or had any professional lapse."

"We've talked through many possibilities and found there have been no real issues." She held out her hands, and he took them in his, proving that despite his difficulty with eye contact he was paying attention. "But a few nights I've found myself awake and wondering, whether it would really work out after all. The counselor would say that such thoughts are normal -- it's still early in the relationship. That kind of anxiety is not a real issue. I'm only having a few anxious meanderings that are easy to dismiss when I look at your smile."

He did meet her gaze then. "Then I wonder if the occasional doubt I've noticed in you might be your wavering between actually pursuing command, and remaining as you are."

She exhaled impatiently. "I don't want to talk about that right now."

"So it's true. I hope you talk to the captain about it," he said with an evil little smirk. "I think he has a strong opinion on the matter."

"Can we have an evening here, instead of on the bridge?" she asked, waving at the fireplace. "I will agree to talk to the captain about that if you can be here with me."

"Of course. But I'd like to know, if you have any insight to share, what it is you've been anxious about. If I might be able to do something to help."

Deanna realized then that this was his way of managing his own anxiety about the relationship -- she'd usually ignored his emotions during the day despite catching moments of anxiety here and there, refusing to assume anything. He was doing what he always did. Look for solutions, rather than settle for feeling helpless. She sighed, and happily smiled at him. "You can be exactly what you are. I love you, and I appreciate that you are always looking for ways to make me happy. You make me happy, Jean."

It caused him a few seconds of consternation, but his hands tightened on hers and his smile became less tentative. "We observed before that both of us are anxious probably because things are going so well that we're waiting for something to happen to upset it -- I think this is more of the same. It doesn't help that people are so surprised about us. I realize that I was very determined to never allow this to happen with another officer, but every time.... I think Beverly is the first who's simply accepted us."

"No, Geordi and Data," she said. But he shook his head.

"Geordi initially expressed surprise, because he didn't see you as my type. Which Will also mentioned. I'd guess no one would anticipate someone like you would have any interest in me." A subtle way of indicating that he still experienced some disbelief, himself. She wondered if he recognized it.

Deanna pursed her lips and glanced down at their hands. His were larger and nearly enveloped hers. "I was surprised that you were interested in me, actually. Because we are very different. We have a few things in common -- I think we're both introspective and we enjoy some of the same pastimes, and of course there's Starfleet. But we're from very different cultures. It reminds me of a saying I heard once -- if a bird and fish fall in love, how do they decide where to live?"

It stunned him. For a second she thought it might have ruined the evening. He shocked her by laughing. "If the bird is a swan, why is there a problem?"

She laughed with him, surprised and buoyed by his joy. They moved together and kissed -- a long, lingering one, his arms around her. His fingers started to work at the back of the dress, so she started on his uniform, removing the badge with her right hand and pulling off the pips with her left. They parted, and he pulled her right shoulder strap forward so she leaned back a little to facilitate. It surprised her when he started to speak.

" _The things about you I appreciate,_  
_May seem indelicate:_  
_I'd like to find you in the shower_  
_And chase the soap for half an hour._  
_I'd like to have you in my power_  
_And see your eyes dilate."_

It was clearly poetry. She looked at his face, stunned, torn between commenting or kissing him, but waited for more. She didn't want to discourage him. He reached for the left shoulder of the dress and continued to speak softly, his eyes on what he was doing.

  
_"I'd like to have your back to scour_  
_And other parts to lubricate._  
_Sometimes I feel it is my fate_  
_To chase you screaming up a tower_  
_Or make you cower_  
_By asking you to differentiate_  
_Nietzsche from Schopenhauer."_

Not commenting was difficult, but she thought he might not continue if she disrupted this. Gently he peeled the dress downward and kept quoting, softly, his own response to the poem easy enough for her to sense. She watched him with wide eyes.

 _"I'd like successfully to guess your weight_  
_And win you at a fete._  
_I'd like to offer you a flower._

 _I like the hair upon your shoulders,_  
_Falling like water over boulders._  
_I like the shoulders, too: they are essential._  
_Your collar-bones have great potential_  
_(I'd like all your particulars in folders_  
_Marked Confidential)."_

He touched her hair, her shoulders, traced a line across her collar bones. Cupped her cheeks with his palms and finally gazed into her eyes. 

 _"I like your cheeks,_  
_I like your nose,_  
_I like the way your lips disclose_  
_The neat arrangement of your teeth_  
_(Half above and half beneath)_  
_In rows._

 _I like your eyes,_  
_I like their fringes._  
_The way they focus on me gives me twinges._  
_Your upper arms drive me berserk._  
_I like the way your elbows work,_  
_On hinges."_

"I've never heard poetry like -- " He silenced her with a finger to her lips. Leaning, he traced a path from her cheek down her neck and left shoulder with his lips, speaking the next verse and tickling her skin with it.

 _"I like your wrists,_  
_I like your glands,_  
_I like the fingers on your hands._  
_I'd like to teach them how to count,_  
_And certain things we might exchange,_  
_Something familiar for something strange._  
_I'd like to give you just the right amount_  
_And get some change._

He held up her arm as he moved his lips down to her wrist, kissed her palm. 

 _I like it when you tilt your cheek up._  
_I like the way you nod and hold a teacup._  
_I like your legs when you unwind them._  
_Even in trousers I don't mind them._  
_I like each softly-moulded kneecap._  
_I like the little crease behind them._  
_I'd always know, without recap,_  
_Where to find them."_

She fell into the rhythm of the words at last, into the desire he felt for her, her eyes beginning to echo the intensity of what he was feeling. When his finger stroked the inside of her knee, her leg followed the movement, unfolding.

 _"I like the sculpture of your ears._  
_I like the way your profile disappears_  
_Whenever you decide to turn and face me._  
_I'd like to cross two hemispheres_  
_And have you chase me._  
_I'd like to smuggle you across frontiers_  
_Or sail with you at night into Tangiers._  
_I'd like you to embrace me."_

He stood up and she followed suit automatically, letting him guide her by the shoulders away from the couch and shove the dress downward til it fell on the floor in a heap and she could step out of it. He paused there, touched her breasts, but returned to the undressing -- moved the hose down her hips and legs, and she stepped out of them and shook them off as well. Without touching her body he swayed close, their noses mere millimeters apart, stopping short of a kiss. She was trying not to tremble; her lips parted slightly.

 _"I'd like to see you ironing your skirt_  
_And cancelling other dates._  
_I'd like to button up your shirt._  
_I like the way your chest inflates._  
_I'd like to soothe you when you're hurt_  
_Or frightened senseless by invertebrates._  
_I'd like you even if you were malign_  
_And had a yen for sudden homicide._  
_I'd let you put insecticide_  
_Into my wine._  
_I'd even like you if you were the Bride_  
_Of Frankenstein_  
_Or something ghoulish out of_  
_Mamoulian's Jekyll and Hyde._  
_I'd even like you as my Julian_  
_Of Norwich or Cathleen ni Houlihan._  
_How melodramatic_  
_If you were something muttering in attics_  
_Like Mrs Rochester or a student of Boolean_  
_Mathematics."_

He was very focused now, on what he was doing. Likely because he was succeeding -- she loved that he was doing it, and she understood enough of the poem that she intended to research some of the more obscure references so she understood the rest. He paused for a kiss on the lips -- slow and deliberate, but not long and intense as the first one had been.

 _"You are the end of self-abuse._  
_You are the eternal feminine._  
_I'd like to find a good excuse_  
_To call on you and find you in._  
_I'd like to put my hand beneath your chin,_  
_And see you grin._  
_I'd like to taste your Charlotte Russe,_  
_I'd like to feel my lips upon your skin,_  
_I'd like to make you reproduce."_

While he spoke he helped her remove his jacket and while she put it on the sofa he stripped off the undershirt, exposing his chest -- as fit as ever, and she did enjoy having him to herself. Her fingers made short work of the fastener on his pants. He stepped out of them, bringing her back into his arms.

 _"I'd like you in my confidence._  
_I'd like to be your second look._  
_I'd like to let you try the French Defence_  
_And mate you with my rook."_

She chuckled approvingly -- mating was definitely on the menu. His skin felt hot to the touch, and she wondered how much of that was _hajira_ , rising to engulf them already. He was very pleased with himself, as he took her face in his hands and once more looked in her eyes.

  
_"I'd like to be your preference_  
_And hence_  
_I'd like to be around when you unhook._  
_I'd like to be your only audience,_  
_The final name in your appointment book,_  
_Your future tense."_

Deanna kissed him again, and let him nudge her toward the hearth, where it was warmer -- they dropped to the white rug and she found it to be soft and welcoming as she rolled on her back and welcomed him into her arms.

He was typically a thoughtful lover but this was going above and beyond; he was so focused on what he was doing it was easy for her to wrap herself up in sensation, let him take her to orgasm again, and again. By the time he started actual intercourse her entire body was singing songs of joy. They rolled together until he was on his back without dislodging him. She leaned down, her hair falling around their faces like a curtain. She wriggled her hips and kissed him, and did her best to give him the long slow build to orgasm that he'd given her.

It was intense as their lovemaking could be, and when he came it was with the fireworks and the heat they had come to expect when they focused this way on each other. She sprawled across him, enjoying the heat of the fireplace on her drying skin as well as the fading fire between them.

"My future tense," he murmured, dragging his fingers through her hair slowly, letting it coil briefly around them and uncoil again. He was quite content and even a little smug. "Firebird."

"You don't seem as disoriented as usual," she observed. Reluctantly she slid to his right, moving her weight before it became too uncomfortable on his chest.

"I have been working on that. It appears I should have listened to you, all the times you recommended me to meditation."

"You were a frustrating client at times. But it's nice to see you're much more attentive now," she said with a happy grin. "Are you saying you remember it all?"

His husky chuckling accompanied a wave of satisfaction, as she settled in the curve of his arm and his hand found the back of her head while he played with her hair. "I doubt I'll be able to forget it."

"I have no defense against you," she murmured in his ear. Swinging a leg over his, she used his bicep as a pillow. "I would happily let you lubricate me as often as you wish."

"I knew you would enjoy the poem. Lovely woman." 

They used up the balance of the two hours on the holodeck lounging, and he tried to explain some of the references in the poem, ending up asking the computer for help. And the computer gave them a fifteen minute warning, so they gathered up clothing scattered about and he had the computer provide a replicator so they could get clothing and recycle the rest. He put on a white shirt and brown slacks for the walk home, putting the standard issue boots back on, and she opted for a long loose dress and no shoes. There was no one in the corridor or the lift, though they did hear voices from the other direction as they hurried away.

He was nearly as tired as she, so they went to bed and quickly fell asleep, instead of talking. There would be adequate time to discuss other things, she reasoned. It occurred to her that it was odd that he hadn't asked about  _hajira_ but perhaps he too was fine postponing that discussion, in favor of more fulfilling pursuits.

 


	4. Chapter 4

Deanna was dressed for the gym when he awakened the following morning. Jean-Luc watched her tie back her hair as she approached and bent down to kiss him in farewell. "See you soon."

"I'll have the coffee ready."

She seemed happy and energetic, a stark contrast to yesterday's stress, and after she left he contemplated yesterday's activities with a smile as he sprawled in bed, until he fell asleep. The alarm woke him up again, and he got dressed while thinking about the day's tasks. Beverly arrived shortly after he put the coffee and a plate of baked goods on the table.

"Good morning," he said as she strolled in -- she stopped and studied him with a raised eyebrow.

"You must have cheered her up a lot," she commented, finishing the walk to the table.

Jean-Luc harrumphed at her and poured himself some coffee. "You are psychic?"

"No, you're not as stressed as you were yesterday. This mission may be tense but it isn't anything you would be flustered about. I must admit that I didn't expect you would take to it as well as you have," she continued, reaching for the pot as he put it down. 

"Take to it?"

"Domestication. It seems to suit you."

Jean-Luc exhaled, as he reached for the cream. "So now that I am domesticated all we're going to talk about is my relationship with her?"

"Not at all. Are you still playing in the ensemble?"

"Of course. There was a concert scheduled, but per usual it was canceled pending the conclusion of the mission. Perhaps we'll be able to have it before we return you to the  _Valiant_."

"I'd like that," she said, and started to eat in earnest.

There were a few moments of companionable silence, and he started to worry -- Deanna should have been back from the gym within an hour. Her morning workout wasn't that long. He refocused, and as he was about to ask about whether Beverly had heard from her son, the door opened and Deanna returned, wearing damp sweats and her hair in complete disarray, the hair tie gone. 

"I'm sorry I'm late," she said, turning right. "I'll be back in a moment."

"Dee," Beverly called out, but the urgency in her tone had no effect and Deanna was through the bedroom door and gone. "Was that a black eye?"

"I don't know," Jean-Luc replied, rising and setting aside the coffee mug to go see. 

When he entered the bathroom, she was already in the shower. He waited for a minute and she came out of the stall as the sonics went off. Her eye was fine, he noticed with relief. "I fell while running on the track, and the mats in that room leave black smudges on you," she explained, gesturing at the discarded gray sweats on the floor. There were indeed a couple of visible black smudges on the shirt. "I'm fine."

"You're sure about that? Why did you fall?"

She rolled her eyes. "I tripped. It's nothing, Jean. I'll be out in a minute."

"All right. I'll save you a croissant." He pointedly didn't look at her body, much, and returned to breakfast. 

Beverly watched him sit down with questions in her eyes, waiting expectantly.

"She tripped running the track," he said, picking up his cup. 

"She fell on her face? Jean-Luc," she exclaimed.

"You can ask her yourself, she's putting on a uniform."

Beverly was pensive and fretting, and by the time Deanna emerged he was too -- he knew brushing and putting up her hair was the real effort, for her, and she'd braided and rolled it on her head in a more elaborate fashion than usual. She sat down between them at the table and glanced from him to Beverly and back. "I'm fine," she repeated, picking up a scone and the butter knife. "It was just a smudge."

"I've run on the track with you before. It's confusing to me how you hit your face in such a way that it gave you a black eye, even if it was something you could wash off."

"I had my mind on other things while I was running and tripped over my own feet. Why are you so suspicious of a simple accident?"

Beverly pursed her lips and looked down at the scones for a moment. "I suppose because this is the first time in years that I've ever seen you do something like this?"

Deanna stirred cream and sweetener into her coffee. "I may have been running a little faster than usual."

"We should have the situation on Galisi resolved by the end of the day," Jean-Luc said, trying to shift the subject. 

"If we can find the raiders," Deanna said. "It doesn't sound like gamma shift found anything." When Jean-Luc was curious about that, she went on to explain. "Mr. Mendez was on watch, he often goes for a run at the end of gamma."

"Am I needed at the briefing? I'd like to be with patients this morning," Beverly said, sipping coffee. "I think some of them are nearly ready to discharge."

"That would be fine. Dr. Mengis can update you if anything comes up you need to know about." Jean-Luc hesitated on the brink of asking what she thought about their current CMO -- Mengis had been stiff and mostly silent, all business, since he'd come aboard. 

"Dee said that Mengis has been standoffish," Beverly said. "He seems reserved, but we're sharing a sickbay without butting heads. He's been cordial to me."

Deanna was eating with a carefully-calm expression that reminded him of how she could be in counseling. Jean-Luc watched her, and she quickly noticed that and responded with a quick smile. "I miss Beverly being in sickbay. And he is very reserved. More than you have ever been."

The computer summoned their attention. "Sickbay to Crusher -- one of your patients is experiencing respiratory distress." 

"I'm on my way." Beverly leaped up. "I'll see you later." She hurried out, the doors snapping shut behind her.

Deanna finished her scone and her coffee. "Are you ready to go?"

"Almost. How are you feeling this morning?"

She smiled merrily at him. "I'm doing well. I plan to ignore anything Caleb says today that doesn't pertain to the mission. Do you have a plan?"

"What do you think the fastest method of finding former terrorists with cloaking devices will be?"

She tilted her head for a moment. "If Geordi hasn't determined a way to counter the cloak, it may be quickest to ask Betazoids to find them."

"Putting colonists in the line of fire is out of the question, however."

"So you'll assign me to the task," she said, without any hint of distress. 

"That would be the logical thing to do, if it is indeed the most efficient way to go about it."

Deanna got up and started taking dishes to the recycle slot. He brought his plate and cup along, and they turned for the door as one. "Are you having reservations about sending me on the mission?" she asked as they went down the corridor.

"I will put you in command of the away team." They entered the turbolift. He asked for the bridge, and the doors closed behind them as they turned to face forward.

"Good."

He smiled at that. "So when they promote Data I can count on you to step up?"

She was looking at the toes of her boots when he glanced at her. She raised her head to meet his eyes. "Are you sure that's what you want?"

"I will neither encourage nor discourage. I will only be supportive of your decision. This is a unique situation, and while I may have mixed feelings in this matter I do not want my emotions to influence you. Looking at your career through the lens of the captain considering the options I have for replacing Mr. Data, I can't see anything that would prevent it."

She giggled, and leaned to bump his arm with hers. "That was unusually evasive. I must have caught you off guard, responding to that half-joke seriously. I'm sorry I didn't play along. If only because now I know that we might lose Data."

"They may offer him a ship -- I don't know that they have. But you know the state of Starfleet as well as I, and it would not make sense to fail to offer a promotion to any seasoned first officer currently in service."

They stepped out onto the bridge almost in lockstep, and she waited to let him go ahead of her. Data had risen to watch them come down to the observation lounge, and the senior staff filed in behind their captain.

 

* * *

 

 

 Deanna tried to take slow, measured breaths and mostly keep herself calm, sitting in the briefing. She could tell Jean-Luc was somewhat anxious but not as much as she, and as always it was difficult to focus on others when she was struggling herself. She watched the captain instead of letting the simmering frustration from Caleb, seated at the far end of the table, distract her.

"We have mapped the planet and identified several locations where the raiders have clearly taken up residence temporarily," Data said. "It appears they have been moving their base of operations often. We have been unable to locate their current location, however. There is no doubt that they know we are looking for them. There have been no transmissions on any frequency nor have there been any vessels leaving the planet's surface. I believe that, as we discussed yesterday, the most efficient way to find them would be a visual search using the shuttles. However, this could result in the raiders firing upon the shuttles."

"Mr. Data and I have mapped a search pattern for each continent," Caleb said. "Computer, display Galisi search pattern."

The hologram generated into the air over the table showed a web of red lines over each continent. 

"We could decrease the risk to the shuttles by searching one continent at a time," deLio said, his reedy voice sounding uncertain to human ears, but Deanna knew that this was not the case. L'norim, like many non-human species, did not conform to human norms. "Maintain a transporter lock on the shuttle occupants, and be ready to engage any attacking vessels from orbit with the  _Enterprise'_ s weaponry."

"We should start with the most likely continent first," Data said, gazing at the hologram. 

"There are three continents -- I think the northernmost one first," Deanna said. Everyone at the table turned their heads to look at her, most of them in surprise. "Cloaking devices require a lot of energy. Artificial energy sources are easy to track. If you put your secret base of operations in a deeper canyon, you need less of a cloak to conceal yourself from a vessel in orbit, and there are active volcanoes in that area. Geothermal energy would make an efficient power source. And that's also the smallest continent, so it will take less time to cover."

"But all the previous encampments were on the southernmost continent," Caleb said, pointing.

"All the more reason to hide somewhere else," Carlisle said. "Some of these folks are former Starfleet. They're going to be guessing we'll be following standard protocols."

"We should send a message to Starfleet," Deanna said. "In the clear, informing them we are leaving to take the  _Valiant_ back to the starbase, as we couldn't find the raiders."

Data nodded, appreciating the idea while the others were surprised by it. "That may result in their believing we are gone. But waiting for them to move and give away their position might take too long, if they are very cautious. There is no compelling reason for them to move."

"Commander Troi will take a security team in a runabout, and search the northern continent." Jean-Luc was clearly done with considering alternatives. "We will monitor from the  _Enterprise_ and intervene if necessary from orbit. After we have located the camp, we will reassess and determine the best strategy to apprehend them."

"The counselor?" Caleb exclaimed, disbelieving. 

The senior staff of the  _Enterprise_ collectively turned to regard him with mild surprise. The captain cleared his throat. "Dismissed," he said firmly. He was the first one to go, and Deanna nodded to deLio and left the bridge with the L'norim following. He contacted several of his staff and by the time they reached the shuttle bay she had a party of five with her. deLio briefed them as they crossed the bay to the craft.

"We may be landing and performing reconnaissance," she added, as they boarded the runabout. "Additional teams can beam down once we find the camp."

"Preparing for launch," said the pilot. Lieutenant David Sands was one of Deanna's clients; she sat in the chair behind him, in the spot usually occupied by a science officer. With a touch of the control panel she brought up the sensor array and began configuring it to show geographical information. The forward array she set to detect elements typically used in the hulls of Starfleet vessels, knowing that there were several in the tiny fleet they had encountered.

"Launch when ready," she said, and listened to Sands coordinate the launch with the bridge. Behind her she heard the security team taking weapons out of the lockers. 

The time it took to travel from the ship to the atmosphere was difficult, as it gave her too much opportunity to let anxiety take hold, but she practiced focusing on the main viewer and the sensors, and on trying to sense Tom Riker's presence. She had a very vague sense of him that grew stronger as they descended into the atmosphere of Galisi, then through the cloud layer. Mountains and hills became visible on the main viewscreen.

"Course correction," she said, as they started to follow the search protocol. "Bearing two sixty-two mark zero."

"Sir?" Sands asked, looking back at her over his shoulder. 

"I know the pattern we're supposed to follow, but I also know that I sense the raiders more clearly the closer we get to them. Change course."

Sands glanced at deLio, who was sitting at the co-pilot's station, the console in front of him configured to display defenses and weaponry. The security chief merely stared at the lieutenant. Sands put in the course correction.

Two course corrections later, deLio announced, "I see a vessel on the ground."

Deanna could see nothing on sensors, making it clear the cloak was some form of jamming field rather than a cloak operating against visual as well as sensor contact. And then she sensed the jolt of awareness from Tom Riker. "Evasive maneuvers!"

The lieutenant responded to the urgency in her tone but it was too late. The runabout shuddered. deLio raised the shields and readied the weapons systems. Deanna shook her head. "Nothing on sensors -- can you target manually?"

"Aye, sir. Phasers are targeted."

"Aim for the vessel firing on us. They're scrambling to launch, I think.  _Europa_ to  _Enterprise_ \- we have engaged the raiders."

" _Europa_ , we have detected weapons fire -- withdraw," came the captain's stern order. Of course. Now that they had located the camp there was no need for the runabout to remain and be a target. A more strategic deployment could be used, now that their location was known. Or the small ragtag fleet would attempt to flee rather than remain on the ground. 

The runabout shook again, and deLio fired again as Sands altered course. "We're -- "

But there was no opportunity to hear the rest of the lieutenant's sentence -- a great concussion drowned out his words and shook the  _Europa_ and everything began to spin, and Deanna braced herself in the seat. The readouts flickered and went out. The ship swung the opposite direction suddenly and she had no chance to compensate -- her head struck the panel on her right and all was black.

She came to suddenly, already coughing, and her lungs aching and her mouth full of the acrid, bitter taste of smoke -- she was being carried by someone, and when she tried to move the arms under her tightened to keep her in place. "Commander," deLio said. "You are injured. The runabout is down. Ensign McKenna is deceased and all of us were injured, and we appear to have landed under the jamming signal being used by the Maquis. I have been unable to reach the  _Enterprise_."

"Are we still under attack?" She coughed more, and tried to get her bearings -- she could tell everyone was in varying amounts of pain, and her own was not insignificant. Her stomach was in knots, her ears were ringing and her head felt hollow. Her arm was broken and the side of her head felt like she had been hit with a brick. It made it difficult to think. 

"We are not. Several of the vessels launched." He carried her down a slope, away from the wreckage, and she thought she could see why in the narrow field of vision she had; as he walked deLio's shoulder obscured her view behind him part of the time, but from what she could tell the runabout had come down more or less on its belly in a field of boulders. There was a lot of smoke pouring out of it, some of which was an unhealthy hue, and she could tell it wouldn't take off again. 

They passed into a grove of trees, and he finally placed her on the ground, propping her against a rock. She glanced around -- Sands appeared to be unconscious not far away, and four security officers with torn uniforms lay in a semi-circle in the shade with her. deLio alone seemed to be unhurt. After a few moments of collecting her wits and settling herself to the task at hand, she asked, "Who can walk?"

"Sir?" one of the ensigns exclaimed in disbelief.

"We need phasers," she said, using her right arm to start pushing herself to her feet. "I can sense six people approaching."

"We have four hand phasers," deLio said. An explosion from the runabout interrupted him. He looked around the small clearing they were in, surrounded on all sides by tree trunks and undergrowth. "From what direction?"

Deanna tested her legs -- they seemed fine, but for a gash on her right thigh that stung but didn't prevent her from putting weight on her leg. She pointed to the right. "We should take cover."

They managed to move into a thicker part of the grove, putting the unconscious pilot in some low bushes and leaving two of the more severely injured officers with him. The clearing they had been in was in view from the new location. deLio had left a first aid kit and one of the survival kits open on the ground.

"We need to get to the jammer and destroy it," she said, as deLio and the other two security officers started to spread out through the trees slowly, phasers in hand. "Then we'll be able to contact the  _Enterprise_."

"How will we do that?" Ensign Suarez asked. 

"Phasers on stun, wide beam," she replied, setting her own phaser. "Stay hidden until all six of them are in view. Don't fire unless deLio's first shot fails to stun them all." She gestured, and they all spread out in the foliage, ducking under the large ferns growing in the dappled sunlight filtering through the broad leaves of the trees. 

But they waited a long time, and no one came. She could sense them, close but not in view, also waiting. Moving very slowly through the trees on the other side of the clearing. Likely they had seen the gear in the clearing and were waiting for someone to come back to it.

Deanna heard deLio crawling closer. "Commander," he said in a low voice.

"I'm going to draw them out," she said quietly. "If you can't stun them without hitting me, go ahead and stun me too. Then I want you and the others to make a run for it -- follow their footprints back to their settlement, and destroy that jamming device."

"Sir."

Deanna put her phaser on the ground in deLio's direction, and dropped to the dirt, then began to crawl slowly. That was actually more painful than walking for her injured leg but she kept going until she slowly left the cover of the ferns. She was half across the clearing toward the first aid kit, moaning, crying a little, when Tom Riker left the bushes on the other side of the clearing and ran to her.

"Deanna?" His high-pitched concerned tone triggered an almost visceral response -- he sounded like Will, of course. But she flinched away from him. 

"They're all dead," she whimpered. "Where are we, Will? What's going on?"

"Come with me," he said in a warm, soothing manner -- he helped her stand up. She staggered and feigned disorientation and dizziness, almost falling down, and then the rest of them came out of the trees.

Behind her, she sensed deLio's tension and then the intent. As the last of the six Maquis came into her view, she whirled and planted a fist on Tom's jaw, knocking him backward, then dove forward to land flat on the ground. She heard the phaser and felt the searing jolt of a stun -- she came to seconds later, her nerves on fire, sobbing. She'd dodged the beam but caught some of it -- just a partial stun, enough to knock her out for a few seconds.

"Commander," Ensign Suarez exclaimed urgently. "We got them! I'll get the kit. We can give you a sedative."

"No," she blurted. "Help me up."

Two of them pulled her to her feet. They were sympathetic, as was deLio. He stood in front of her and peered into her face. Probably trying to determine her fitness for duty, she guessed. It would have been easy to hand off to him and let them sedate her, she thought.

"Give me the phaser. I'll stay here and keep them stunned, if any of them come around. Take the others and find the jammer."

deLio nodded and gestured at the three junior officers, and the four of them left at a jog in the direction that the six Maquis had come. 

Deanna stood in the clearing with six stunned Maquis holding the phaser, her right thigh now throbbing in addition to the sting of the open, bleeding gash, and kept herself occupied with monitoring their still bodies, looking for any sign of movement. The leaves sighed overhead in the breeze occasionally. She started to notice that she swayed as well, as if she were a tree in the breeze, and then her task was twofold -- monitor the prisoners, and keep herself on her feet. 

" _Enterprise_ to Troi," came the long-awaited voice of rescue. Lana'hai, the acting tactical officer on the bridge. 

"Troi here -- please send a security team to my coordinates," she said. "I have six prisoners."

"Stand by."

Five more security officers materialized in the clearing nearby. They stared at her wide-eyed. 

"Troi to  _Enterprise,"_ she said wearily. "One to beam directly to sickbay."

The beam took her, and sickbay materialized around her -- when transport was done, she collapsed suddenly, as if her legs knew it was okay to give up. Hands caught her arms. "Over here," Beverly called out. Deanna let it all go, let her eyes close, and sank into unconsciousness at last.


	5. Chapter 5

Jean-Luc watched the runabout growing smaller on the main viewer, and turn slowly toward the planet to descend.

"Sir," Commander Hendricks said quietly.

He turned to his left, where the man sat in Deanna's usual place. "Commander," he said patiently.

Caleb was watching him with the same perturbed expression he seemed to wear a lot. "I wanted to know, sir, why you put the counselor in charge instead of your security chief, or your first officer."

Jean-Luc turned to his right, to Data. "Mr. Data, who would you have sent, if it were up to you?"

"I might have sent the first officer. But there is an additional expediency to having Commander Troi in command of the away team. She will very likely sense the Maquis long before they see them, and be able to issue course corrections, enabling them to locate the camp more quickly. And if she is not, she will carry out the search as ordered, just the same." Data turned to look up at Lana'hai, standing at tactical. "Status of the runabout, Mr. Lana'hai?"

" _Europa_ has entered the atmosphere. She is descending toward the northern continent." The vocoder sounded mechanical. 

Jean-Luc watched the viewscreen, despite the fact that he could see nothing but distant stars and a small moon. It was preferable to looking at Hendricks' face. 

"I have experience with difficult surveys," Caleb said.

Data looked up from the monitor on the arm of his chair, eyebrow raised, and exchanged a glance with Jean-Luc. "Sir."

"If you intend to file a complaint, Commander Hendricks, I recommend you do so at the conclusion of the mission, instead of being a distraction on my bridge," Jean-Luc said evenly, in a tone that he might use to ask someone to pass the salt.

Caleb fell silent, crossing his arms, and sullenly stared at the viewer.

"Sir," Lana'hai chirped. "The  _Europa_ is altering course, off the planned search pattern."

Jean-Luc sat up straighter. "She's found them."

"The runabout is traveling thirty degrees to the south of their planned course. There -- another slight correction." Data looked up from the readouts. "Mr. Carlisle."

"Monitoring," Carlisle said from ops. "Transporter room one is maintaining a lock on them."

"Another correction," Data said a moment later. 

There was a long tense silence, that Jean-Luc didn't like, and then Lana'hai spoke up. "I have detected weapons firing on the runabout. We can determine the location of the camp."

"Red alert," Data said. The klaxon was set to go off once on the bridge and fall silent. "Do we have the raiders on long range sensors?"

"Not yet, just the runa -- "

"Sir, the  _Europa_ is hailing," Lana'hai interrupted Carlisle, clearly aware of the importance of that. 

"On speaker," Jean-Luc said.

 _"Europa_  to  _Enterprise_  - we have engaged the raiders." Deanna's voice was controlled, but tense. There was a popping that indicated the comms of the runabout had been damaged.

" _Europa_ , we have detected weapons fire -- withdraw," Jean-Luc exclaimed. He knew he didn't need to explain further; she and deLio would understand there was enough information to find the raiders, and not take more risks than necessary.

A tense moment passed. "Sir, more weapons fire -- the  _Europa_ no longer appears on sensors," Lana'hai announced. "We have lost the transporter lock."

"Hail them again," Jean-Luc said, though he knew that was likely futile. It took another moment to get the confirmation.

"No response, sir."

"Sir," Data said, tapping on his monitor. "I am analyzing sensor data -- the runabout was hit twice. The second impact struck one of the engines."

Jean-Luc had no more than a few seconds for that to register before Lana'hai was speaking again. "Sir, vessels are appearing on sensors -- they are attempting to flee on a heading away from the planet and away from the  _Enterprise_."

"Mr. Calloway, bring us about -- Lana'hai, target their engines with sufficient force to disable but not destroy them," Jean-Luc came to his feet as the helmsman turned the ship about and pursued the smaller vessels. 

The operation was fairly straightforward; the  _Enterprise_ was more than a match for the battered older vessels that had likely been scrounged out of the boneyards, and in total three of the vessels were launched and promptly disabled, then the crews were transported into the brig. They turned their attention back to the camp, returning to the same orbit, and Carlisle made a surprised noise.

"Sensors are picking up sixteen people on the surface, sir. I'm also picking up the other vessels, still on the ground and inactive. It looks like most of the Maquis were on the vessels we apprehended."

"Lana'hai, hail the away team," Jean-Luc ordered. He held his breath, waiting for the answer -- in the seconds it took for Lana'hai to obey, the full impact of the situation hit home. Sixteen people, no guarantee any of them were his officers. That awareness sat in his belly like a rock. It took too long to get a response.

"Troi here -- please send a security team to my coordinates. I have six prisoners."

His head jerked upward, and he exchanged a smile with Data. Lana'hai told her to stand by, then began paging security officers to the transporter room and relaying coordinates.

"Prisoners," Carlisle echoed with a laugh. 

"Lieutenant-Commander deLio is hailing -- he has four prisoners," Lana'hai said. "I am routing them to transporter room two. There are injuries. One fatality." A pause. "Commander Troi is being beamed directly to sickbay."

"Mop it up, Mr. Data," Jean-Luc said, heading for the lift. "Send a team to evaluate the crashed runabout, and the abandoned Maquis vessels. You have the bridge."

The last thing he heard before the turbolift doors closed was Data canceling the red alert.

He arrived at the door to sickbay in a haze, not remembering how he got there. He paused, trying to think and frozen in his tracks. An ensign came, edged around him as he stood there, and went inside; he caught a glimpse of the activity in main sickbay before the door shut.

A moment later, Beverly came out, stood in front of him, and let the door close behind her. Her sad eyes were tempered by her smile. "Jean-Luc. She's all right."

He exhaled at last, realizing he felt light-headed. "Thank you. What about the others?"

"Why don't you come in?"

He followed her numbly, and upon entering he saw that deLio was standing to one side watching his people be tended to, wearing a filthy, torn uniform with scorch marks on the sleeve. "Mr. deLio," he said, feeling more himself.

"Sir. I was not severely injured," he said. "Would you like a report?"

Jean-Luc glanced at the people on the biobeds -- none of them were Deanna. Beverly was at his side, waiting, saying nothing, so likely there was nothing urgent. "Yes, please. We saw that the runabout was fired upon."

"Commander Troi was tracking the Maquis, ordering course corrections. She ordered evasive maneuvers before the first shot was fired. The second hit the aft nacelle. Lieutenant Sands did an admirable job of bringing us down mostly in one piece but was unable to choose a landing site, and so the runabout came down in rough terrain and broke apart, compromising numerous systems. I did my best to get everyone out before they succumbed to plasma leakage and smoke from the overloaded impulse system. The commander suffered head trauma during the crash but awakened when I was carrying her out of the wreckage, and immediately detected six people approaching. She ordered us to take cover in the understory of the forest and drew them in by feigning more serious injury, and was caught in the nimbus of a widely-dispersed phaser stun -- when she awakened she remained with the prisoners and ordered us to find the cloak and destroy it, so the _Enterprise_ could find us."

"And so you did," Jean-Luc said. "I'll expect your full report submitted sometime tomorrow. No rush."

deLio stared at him -- it was hard to read his face under the best of circumstances, but Jean-Luc thought that under the dust the L'norim was expectant and somewhat disapproving.

"Was there anything else?"

"If the commander does not receive a commendation, I am resigning my commission," deLio stated.

"deLio, come over here," Beverly said at once. "You haven't been checked out yet. We should do that and let you go back to quarters." She shot a look at Jean-Luc and led the security chief away to a biobed.

Jean-Luc skirted around the biobeds -- each occupant had the same sorts of damage, scorched uniforms and apparently a few broken bones. In the next ward it was quieter. There were a few people on biobeds apparently sleeping, none of them Deanna. Then there was a short hall, at the end of which was the surgical bay, but there were small rooms along it. He glanced in the first one and found her at last.

It was obvious she was stable, or she wouldn't be here alone. As he approached he saw what deLio had left out of his narrative. The right side of her head had no hair left, and the skin from her ear to the top of her head was red and blistered. He looked up anxiously at the monitor, which showed a detailed report next to the ongoing displayed life signs. A broken leg, a long gash on her thigh, cranial fracture, burns on the head and shoulder from plasma leakage. Likely she hadn't felt the burns; the rest, especially the phaser stun, had no doubt been excruciating. Anyone who had ever been stunned by a phaser knew that it was worse to catch the edge of the blast -- it wasn't enough to knock you out for long, but it was just enough to set the nervous system on fire.

"Jean-Luc."

He looked up, to find Beverly standing in the door with a chair. She brought it in and placed it at the head of the bed. He nodded, turned back to look at Deanna's face, and wondered if she might open her eyes soon.

"Jean-Luc," Beverly said again, shaking him by the shoulders gently. "She's not going to be awake for a while. We'll get back to her after we've stabilized the more acute injuries in main sickbay. Sit down."

He obeyed, his attention returning to Deanna. From this side he only saw the undamaged side of her head.

"How are you feeling?"

It was as though the prompt brought it all to the surface -- inhaling roughly, he caught himself, putting a hand to his mouth.

"It's okay to cry," Beverly whispered. "I'll bring you some tea later." She squeezed his shoulder and headed for the door.

But he didn't cry -- instead he sat holding his mouth and waiting, watching Deanna's face. Feeling empty and alone. It was peculiar how quickly it went from the pain to the emptiness, and analysis failed him. There was simply the waiting, the silence, and it occurred to him to wonder why she was here and not in either of the wards with the other injured. Beverly had said nothing about her prognosis. He quickly set that aside, and his eyes went again to the monitor, to the wavering line of her EEG and the indicators that displayed her circulatory and respiratory activity.

When Beverly came back she shook him awake, and he sat up stiffly -- he'd almost fallen out of the chair. Her sympathetic eyes and smile were the first thing he saw, and then it came rushing back to him that it was sickbay, and Deanna was still unconscious on the bed in front of him and it hadn't just been a nightmare.

"I brought you some Earl Grey," she said. "It's time for breakfast. Data has us under way back to the _Valiant_ at high warp -- what's left of the runabout is in the shuttle bay, and the colonists will deal with the Maquis vessels as they go about reclaiming all that was taken from them. Now that the Maquis are gone and they can go back to peaceful colony life."

"I should go," he said, wincing at the pain in his stiff neck. He took the cup of hot tea she offered him. The smell woke up his appetite.

"You should stay. We're going to wake her, to evaluate her cognitive functioning and her brain activity while she is conscious. And you should be here to see her."

That made it sound as though there might be a chance that it could be the last time to see her, and so the knot in his stomach came back. He watched Beverly go around the bed and work at a screen for a moment, then Deanna made a soft sound -- hummed a little, and her fingers moved, her head turned a little. He came to his feet and almost spilled the tea. Looked down into her eyes -- they opened as he leaned over her, wide and black, her confusion obvious.

"Good morning," he said, his voice a bit raspy with disuse.

"Captain," she whispered, looking around in confusion. 

Beverly leaned in from the other side, touching her arm. "You're in sickbay. What do you remember?"

But Deanna's confusion morphed to fear, as her eyes darted from face to face. Beverly nodded to him, obviously expecting him to do something. 

"Deanna," he said. And paused, trying to think of what to say. He set the tea on the corner of the bed out of the way, and touched her face, running his thumb along her cheek. It focused her attention on him and she seemed less fearful. "Cygne."

"Oh," she said softly, settling at last. Her tentative smile was reassuring. "It wasn't a dream."

He guffawed, and shook his head, feeling the pressure of Beverly's presence. "No. What do you remember?"

Deanna started to sit up but quickly fell back again. "There was... a lot of pain. They were coming for the runabout," she said, wincing as she tried to shift position on the bed. "I think some of their ships were damaged in the battle and unusable, and there were too many of them to evacuate everyone in the ones they had left. We stunned them instead of letting them take us and use us as hostages."

That was not something he'd expected from her at this moment. Beverly was glaring at him too. "We can debrief later. You need to rest."

"I suppose so," she said, waving her hand vaguely, and without a thought he took it in his. "Why are you here?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" He frowned at her.

"The mission is over?"

Of course. She had no idea. "Yes, they're all in the brig and we're taking the  _Valiant_ back to the starbase. Everyone will be dropped off and we'll have to file reports as we go on our way to the Neutral Zone."

"Okay," she said, closing her eyes again, and her body lost a lot of the tension she seemed to have. Beverly touched the panel on the console attached to the bed and turned to him.

"She'll be in surgery this morning," Beverly explained. "We need to align the fractured skull, before we regenerate the bone. It's very good that she's able to orient and remember."

That hit him hard, and before he was aware of it he was back in the chair, leaning forward and trying to breathe. Beverly's hand gripped his shoulder. He hadn't even noticed her moving around the biobed.

"Jean-Luc."

"Why," he gasped. It wasn't even in him to understand what he was asking. His chest hurt and his head started to throb. He heard the whine of a tricorder, and Beverly put her hands on both his shoulders this time.

"Go take a shower, eat something, and get some sleep. I'll let you know when she's awake again," she said, gentle but firm. "She's going to be fine. We have a few more things to do before we can release her from sickbay. That will probably be tomorrow morning, and you have a few things to do today, Captain."

It was the nudge he needed, apparently, because at the mention of rank he stood up, and even picked up the tea without thinking about it on his way out. "Thank you, Doctor."

People were going by him as he walked the corridors still carrying his cup of tea as if it were important, but faces weren't registering -- he reached quarters and moved into the bathroom, putting the cup on the edge of the sink, staring at his reflection. He looked half-dead. Stubble and dark patches under the eyes, and all the signs of lack of sleep and depression. Turning for the shower, he started to remove yesterday's uniform.

He woke from sleeping the sleep of the dead much later, to a howling stomach -- the end result of failing to follow directions in the order received. He asked for the time as he went out to replicate a sandwich. Four hours -- surely she was out of surgery by now. While he sat in his robe eating numbly the annunciator went off, and he admitted the person without thinking.

"Sir," Data exclaimed as he came in. "I was concerned. You have not checked in with the bridge."

"No, Mr. Data, but I knew you had everything well in hand. I was about to contact you," he said. 

"We are currently at warp three, with the  _Valiant_ in tow. We will arrive at the starbase in two hours. I estimate that transferring the prisoners and the  _Valiant_ crew will take four hours. Admiral Wyckoff contacted us and I informed him that we would be sending final reports on the incident at Galisi by tomorrow. How is Deanna, sir?"

Jean-Luc put down the last morsel of his ham on rye and took a long, slow breath. "She will be fine. I'm sorry, I should have checked in with you."

"I understood after hearing what happened that you might be more focused on her welfare. It was no inconvenience."

He stared at his first officer and cold realization washed through him.  He would have been on the bridge, had he not been so distracted. "I will be on the bridge shortly, to review reports and meet with Captain Barregan. If you would notify him that I'd like to meet with him and his first officer in an hour, please. You will attend as well."

"Yes, sir." Data turned and strode out of the room. 

He finished his sandwich and went back to the replicator for a clean uniform. "Picard to sickbay."

"Captain," came the voice of Dr. Mengis. "How may we be of assistance?"

"How is Commander Troi?" He tossed the uniform on the bed and dropped the robe to the floor, reaching for the shirt. 

"Recovering well from the surgery. She's sleeping naturally, at this point, and she should be eating her first meal for dinner. We'll reassess every few hours, of course, but I anticipate she'll be released to quarters in the morning and return to duty in a few days."

"Good. Let me know if there are any changes. Picard out."

On the way to the bridge, he noticed people smiling at him, and returned with a nod. Data surrendered his seat to him and he glanced around as he sat down. "Status," he said automatically, though it would be repetition. While Data repeated the information Carlisle looked back at him from ops. 

"She's fine," Jean-Luc said quietly. It won him a smile before Ward turned back to his console. Jean-Luc turned to Data. "I will be in my ready room if I'm needed, Mr. Data."

He replicated tea out of habit and settled behind his desk. Rather than going straight to the reports, he took a long drink of hot Earl Grey and put the cup on the desk, then closed his eyes and leaned back to spend some time meditating. It had been easier lately to do so. He had never been able to before, until Deanna had moved in and he started to sleep more. 

The computer jarred him out of it, telling him that he had lost track of time. "Come." 

Bob Barregan came in, with Hendricks in tow. "Jean-Luc," he cried, grinning, holding out a hand. They shook firmly across the desk.

"Have a seat. Would you care for anything?" He got up and returned the tea cup to the recycler.

"Coffee, if you don't mind -- black."

"Nothing, thank you," Caleb said as he sat next to his captain. The annunciator sounded again, and Data came in with an additional chair, as Jean-Luc usually had two at the desk. He put it on Barregan's left and sat down as Jean-Luc returned to his seat with a tray bearing three coffees.

"Caleb tells me the mission was successful -- it sounds like you made some interesting choices," Barregan said, picking up the cup.

"Interesting? I'm not sure what you mean." Though he had a good hunch. Data did as well, from the sidelong glance at Barregan.

"He said you sent your counselor instead of your first officer to apprehend the Maquis."

Jean-Luc frowned a little at that. "I didn't feel that leaving you and your vessel disabled and unable to travel at warp for an extended time was a good idea, and so taking care of the situation on Galisi in the most expedient way possible was a priority. Mr. Data isn't Betazoid. Commander Troi is an empath and able to sense the presence of the Maquis from quite a distance. She was able to quickly locate them despite their efforts to defeat sensors, and resolve the situation in less than a day rather than draw out the search over several days. So yes, she was instrumental in this mission."

"I see. Well." Bob drank more coffee as if he hadn't had it in days. Though perhaps as damaged as his vessel was, he hadn't. "I'd like to thank the commander, then. Because it's been meal packs since you left, and we were on the verge of losing life support when a relay failed."

"Perhaps you'll have the opportunity when she is released from sickbay." Jean-Luc tried not to wince at the thought of her on the biobed.

"She was injured?" Caleb asked, clearly shocked.

Jean-Luc glanced at Data, and the android took it to mean he should explain. "The runabout was damaged and made a forced landing. One ensign died in the crash and the other officers were injured. The counselor was able to complete the mission despite a serious head injury and plasma burns to her -- "

"Mr. Data," Jean-Luc interjected. He turned an apologetic smile on their guests. "She will receive a commendation, for performing above and beyond. It's not the first time she has been injured on a mission, but she continued to make sound decisions throughout and minimized the potential for loss of life through her actions."

"Well, I'll look forward to meeting her," Bob said with a grin. "I don't believe I've ever heard of a counselor leading an away mission, let alone apprehending criminals. Mr. Data, it's also a pleasure to meet you -- I've heard quite a lot about you."

"Thank you, Captain," Data said pleasantly. 

Jean-Luc tried not to pay too much attention to Caleb, listening to Data practice small talk with Bob. When he finally glanced at the man he saw that Caleb was watching him. Jean-Luc picked up his coffee, sipped, and turned back to listen to Data finish telling Bob that he found painting to be a rewarding pastime.

"I understand there will be another class starting," Data said, looking at Jean-Luc. "I wonder if you will join us, Captain?"

"I may. Though Malia thinks we need to tackle the works of Ebril Anza, and so it may make the ensemble more of a challenge."

"Anza's  _Ode to the Spheres_  is said to be particularly difficult for woodwinds," Data agreed. "I may switch to the oboe for the occasion."

"It sounds as though you have quite a festival of the arts, Jean-Luc," Bob said, incredulous. "I wasn't aware you played an instrument."

"The  _Enterprise_ has some talented musicians and artists aboard. And I find that it helps to have a community, rather than a collection of officers with no support with which to recover from the rigors of Starfleet."

"I agree, Captain," Data said. 

"It's too bad the concert will likely happen after the  _Enterprise_ leaves the starbase. You would be more than welcome to attend," Jean-Luc said. "I wanted to say, Commander Hendricks, that I appreciate your willingness to help on the away mission -- the evidence that you and your team gathered will be used in the prosecution of the people responsible for the thefts on Galisi. It may have seemed mundane, but it was no less important than any other task on the mission."

"You're welcome, sir," Caleb responded automatically. He seemed mildly perturbed. 

"You are dismissed, Mr. Data. Mr. Hendricks."

Bob watched over his shoulder as the two officers departed. "He's not particularly bright, our Caleb, but he's reliable," he said after the door closed. 

"We all have blind spots. Mine persisted longer than many, actually." 

Bob stared across the desk. That kind of look usually gave Jean-Luc cause for worry, but at the moment he was too tired to care. "Caleb said you are living with your counselor."

"I was not aware that was anyone's business," Jean-Luc said, in as mild a tone as he could manage. "Starfleet does not care about our personal lives."

"You don't think it influences duty?"

"Not in the way you are thinking that it might. For the better perhaps."

"If you say so." Bob smirked and seemed to relax somewhat. "They may yet decide the  _Valiant_ is done for, and put me in a battleship. That would change things for me." Barregan had always done surveys and transports, with very few battles, as he had an older vessel. 

"It would definitely be more challenging. Especially if, as intelligence believes, the Beta Quadrant species are starting to encroach into Federation space."

"I hadn't heard that," Bob said, curious. Making it obvious that not all captains received the same information.

"You probably will before long, if it's true."

It didn't take too long for Barregan to be called away -- they were after all rapidly approaching the starbase, and the captain was responsible for his own ship. Jean-Luc took the time to listen to reports from the members of the away team. There was a consensus that Deanna had definitely set herself apart with her behavior on the mission. After hearing Data's report, he completed his own official log and noted his intent to issue the commendation. Then he called Data back in.

The android sat down in the chair Barregan had been in. "Sir?"

"Do you feel that I failed in any way to fulfill my obligations as the captain of this ship today?"

Data gave it some thought, his head twitching slightly to the left as it sometimes did when he deliberated. "I do not. Why do you ask, sir?"

"Because if I were somehow incapacitated or impaired by anything, it would be your duty to mention it and take any steps necessary -- regardless of how you feel about me or Commander Troi."

"I understand, Captain. And I would do so, because I believe it would be in your best interest as well as hers."

"I just wanted to be clear that we are all expecting that to be so," Jean-Luc said. "I appreciate your dedication to Starfleet as much as I appreciate your friendship, Data."

"It appeared to me that this mission was not difficult for you until Deanna was injured. I wonder if that will change your approach to the next mission."

Jean-Luc pressed his lips together and refrained from speaking for long enough to find equilibrium. "I have wondered that as well. But I have decided that it will not. Each challenge we face should be approached the same -- we analyze, we collect data, we act with consideration for regulations and the principles we swore to uphold."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." Data stood up. "I would like to visit, if that would not be too difficult for her."

"I'm going to sickbay, so I will find out and let you know. Thank you, Data."

 


	6. Chapter 6

"There you go," Beverly said as she adjusted the bed.

"Thank you." Deanna smiled at her friend. It felt much better to be sitting up; she'd never been comfortable flat on her back, being a side sleeper. "Can I have a mirror?"

"Are you sure you want that?"

"I've never been completely bald before. I'm curious."

Beverly left the room for a moment and returned with a hand mirror. Deanna held it up and studied her head from several angles. The burn was healed, the regenerated nerve endings still tingling, and the nurse had shaved off the remainder of her hair at her request. Wearing a wig over half a head of hair until the other side grew out would have been uncomfortable. Her head was now completely smooth. It gave her a shock -- she'd seen her hair every morning all her life, brushed it and sculpted, braided or curled it, and enjoyed the sensation of lovers running fingers through it, and now it was gone. The sadness at the loss was another surprise.

"We'll stimulate the scalp before you leave to get the process started, it will all grow back more quickly that way," Beverly said.

"It feels so strange." Deanna ran her hand over her scalp. She sighed heavily, and wished she felt better. Feeling good seemed like a distant memory.

Dr. Mengis returned then, after being gone for twenty minutes. He held up a wig that looked like her own hair, perhaps less curly than the original but the same color. "Would you like one of us to fit it for you?"

"Thank you," she said, taking it from him. She put it on as she would a hat, sliding it around a little until it felt right, and picked up the mirror again. "Close enough, I suppose."

"I think so. If Dr. Crusher agrees I believe we can let you go -- your progress has been very good, ahead of projections," Mengis said.

"On the condition that at the slightest sign of headache or nausea or any other symptom you will contact sickbay immediately," Beverly said. "You may continue to have that slight light-headed feeling, or a little stiffness. The leg shouldn't trouble you at all."

Deanna had to restrain herself -- she moved in slow motion getting out of the biobed, and gladly accepted the robe that Beverly fetched for her, hugging it around herself. Sickbay always felt cold to her. "Walk me home? I suppose you need to head back to _Valiant_ soon," she said sadly.

"Yes, at this point I'm only keeping the _Enterprise_  at the starbase," Beverly replied with a smile. "Let's stick your head under the regenerator for a minute and we'll go."

"I'll see you in the morning, Counselor," Mengis said. "Unless you are back sooner."

After a visit to main sickbay, Deanna departed with the wig in place over her now-itchy scalp, trying not to scratch it and keeping her hands busy by clutching the front of the drab gray robe to keep it shut. Beverly strolled along the empty corridors with her. It was well into beta shift, and everyone was either at their post or in quarters going through their evening off-duty rituals.

"He's taken it pretty hard," Beverly said, out of nowhere. She'd actually avoided commenting on Jean-Luc for the duration of the time Deanna had been awake in sickbay. Even when Deanna had asked directly, she had changed the subject.

"I'll find out soon enough." 

"I hope it isn't going to change how he treats you on duty."

Deanna kept her eyes on the carpet, as they approached the turbolift. "I don't believe it will. How he feels, perhaps. But it's never been his habit to allow feelings to sway him from his principles."

In the lift Beverly requested deck eight. "I hope you are right. But it's been a tough day for him. He looked terrible when I came in this morning. Fell asleep in the chair."

"Is that why you're releasing me, so he doesn't do that again?"

"I'm sure he would be there again tonight. But I suspect he won't sleep much either way, so if anything happens to you he'll have the entire medical staff there in a heartbeat. And I know you'll be more comfortable in a real bed."

They left the lift and approached the captain's quarters. Deanna knew he wasn't there; from what she sensed, he was exercising, and that meant the gym. She preceded the doctor into the living room and turned around to smile at her. "Thank you, for everything. I wish we could have more time."

"I know. Tell him I'll be in touch soon." Beverly hugged her gently, carefully, and glanced around one last time, then headed for the door. 

Deanna stood there waiting. She sensed the inevitable -- Jean-Luc went on the alert, then stopped what he was doing. Within minutes the door opened again and he was there, excited and sweaty and on the verge of grabbing her up in his arms. But whatever Beverly had told him when she had comm'd him stopped him short. He panted a little as he stood in front of her looking in her eyes.

"I should probably make my report, as I'd suppose it's holding up yours," she said.

Jean-Luc winced -- there was an incredible effort he made, wrangling his emotions around until he could speak again. He looked at her again, this time reaching for her. She took a step into his arms and ignored his grubby sweats. She still felt weak and tired, and he was holding her as if she might fall apart any second. So all was raw and painful -- her scalp, her body, his emotions. 

The only way out was through it.

"Beverly told you, no doubt, all the things you're supposed to notice and contact sickbay if they happen -- so we should have something to eat," she said after a while. "And I would love a bath. Lukewarm, because all the regenerated tissue wouldn't appreciate hot."

"What would you like to eat?"

"Something bland and easy to digest. I haven't had solid food for a while."

That led to some soup, which was workable. She didn't even ask what kind. It was orange, and moderately spicy. He was eating something but paying more attention to her, watching her eat. 

"Has the concert been rescheduled yet?" she asked after having her fill of the soup. He brought her another glass of water, after she finished the one she'd been drinking. 

"Tomorrow night. But if you don't feel like going I may ask to reschedule it again, or bow out."

"Or I can play chess with Ward and you can go anyway," she suggested. "This isn't my first recovery from serious injuries, Jean-Luc. It's merely the first one you've witnessed with such intimacy."

That led to another tangled web of emotions, for him. He had a perplexed expression for a moment. "Yes," he admitted at last. "I suppose that's true."

"The first time you nearly suffered the loss of someone you love," she murmured. 

"Someone real," he amended with a sheepish little smile. "You downplay the seriousness of your condition, but this morning I watched Beverly tiptoe around giving me a prognosis, and delay optimism until after she determined you had no permanent brain damage. I'm no stranger to these things, either."

"I don't know about that, but I do know that it was difficult for you today. So if you want to hold me while I sleep I'm more than happy to sleep with you."

He laughed, which was of course her intent. "Yes."

"My silly fish," she said, smiling. Her head still felt hollow and she knew she would need to go to bed soon. "A bath?"

He was studying her as she walked, probably waiting for any sign of a wobble or misstep. He asked the computer for water at fifteen degrees less than her usual desired temperature and helped her in. Sat on the edge of the tub instead of getting in, though, and she heard him gasp when her wig slipped as she reached for the soap.

"They shaved my head," she said, pulling it off. "I shouldn't get it wet, here."

He took the wig and stared at her.

"Jean. It will grow back," she said, trying to avoid showing her own feelings on the matter.

He sat there, shoulders hunched forward slightly, holding the wig in both hands and staring at it without seeing it. Captain Picard, in uniform, feeling miserable and defeated.

"Jean-Luc."

His distress crested and then ebbed, slowly, as he worked through whatever churned on in his thoughts. She had sensed this sort of anxiety many times over the years, but always as his counselor. It caused her more concern now, as she sat in his bathtub naked, her thigh still red from the regenerator and her back muscles stiff from being in a sickbay bed.

She lay back in the tub against the sloped, padded seat just for that purpose. Closed her eyes, and began to speak.

_When love beckons to you, follow him,_   
_Though his ways are hard and steep._   
_And when his wings enfold you yield to him,_   
_Though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you._   
_And when he speaks to you believe in him._   
_Though his voice may shatter your dreams as the north wind lays waste the garden._   
_For even as love crowns you so shall he crucify you._   
_Even as he is for your growth so is he for your pruning._   
_Even as he ascends to your height and caresses your tenderest branches that quiver in the sun,_   
_So shall he descend to your roots and shake them in their clinging to the earth._   
_Like sheaves of corn he gathers you unto himself._   
_He threshes you to make you naked._   
_He sifts you to free you from your husks._   
_He grinds you to whiteness._   
_He kneads you until you are pliant;_   
_All these things shall love do unto you that you may know the secrets of your heart, and in that knowledge become a fragment of Life's heart._   
_But if in your fear you would seek only love's peace and love's pleasure._   
_Then it is better for you that you cover your nakedness and pass out of love's threshing-floor,_   
_Into the seasonless world where you shall laugh, but not all of your laughter, and weep, but not all of your tears._   
_Love gives naught but itself and takes naught but from itself._   
_Love possesses not nor would it be possessed;_   
_For love is sufficient unto love._   
_And think not you can direct the course of love, for love, if it finds you worthy, directs your course._   
_Love has no other desire but to fulfill itself._   
_But if you love and must needs have desires, let these be your desires:_   
_To melt and be like a running brook that sings its melody to the night._   
_To know the pain of too much tenderness._   
_To be wounded by your own understanding of love;_   
_And to bleed willingly and joyfully._   
_To wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of loving;_   
_To rest at the noon hour and meditate love's ecstasy;_   
_To return home at eventide with gratitude;_   
_And then to sleep with a prayer for the beloved in your heart and a song of praise upon your lips._

He sat there in silence for a time, and turned to look at her finally. To her surprise his eyes were glittering with tears.

"Do you need help getting out?" he whispered.

"Yes. I think it's time for bed."

He wrapped her up in a towel, and brought her one of his shirts to sleep in. After she was under the covers, he removed his own uniform, took a sonic shower, and got in bed wearing his undershorts. It was impossible to simply fall asleep. He was working through it, and she knew he would talk when he was ready to do so, and pressuring him to before he was ready wasn't going to work.

So she curled up on her side, reaching over to put a hand on his arm.

"Did you write that verse?" he asked, after long silence.

"No. It's very old. Kahlil Gibran was born in the 1800s, on Earth. There are many Terran poets of which I am fond. My father had collections of poetry that I inherited -- Mother of course prefers Betazoid poetry."

Jean-Luc heaved a great, long sigh. He reached for her, and she happily moved into his arms, hoping, pressing her face in until she had molded her body along his and her cheek rested on his shoulder and her nose rested against his neck.

"I love you," she murmured.

"Why," he whispered.

She waited for him to stop grieving, as his hand found her head and his fingertips slid down her bare scalp. "Wrong question."

It piqued his curiosity. That disrupted the grief somewhat.

"The real question is how," she said. "With all that I am -- whether I am on duty or not. And I refuse to do anything less than be true to my heart."

He quietly pulled her in, and held her as the grief morphed into awe, and gradually moved through into happiness and love. She extended herself then as much as she could, with what little telepathic ability she possessed, and the connection was made -- her heart burned with joy and knew his did the same, and that it would be all right again.

" _Hajira_."

 


	7. Chapter 7

The _Enterprise_ commenced its scheduled patrol and Jean-Luc had never been so happy to have a period of boredom. He watched cadets taking on drills in the holodeck, worked on transposing the latest score for his flute so he could practice with the ensemble, and read a book. And, watched Deanna come back from her injuries, and slowly return to duty.

Four days on the Neutral Zone, and he was starting to feel normal. After breakfast he headed for the bridge, book in hand. The morning would be spent on reports from the previous shift, then he would settle in for a few hours of reading in the ready room. The afternoon activity would depend on his whim, and what Deanna was doing. She had appointments with clients, sporadically, as she felt she was able.

When the call came in, he was getting his second cup of tea, and done with the dailies. He sat down to smile at the screen, where Beverly was picking up her own cup of tea and beaming at him via subspace.

"Now that you're a few days from it, how are you and Deanna doing?"

He snorted. "Well enough. She's started seeing clients again."

"Good, that's promising. How are you?"

He sighed loudly. Rolled his eyes.

"Jean-Luc. I was there," she reminded him, eyeing him and setting aside her chamomile.

"Better. Not feeling so numb or panicked. Starting to focus more on the work than the past."

Beverly's sad little smile said she knew the pattern well. "It made me think a lot myself, about everything I've been through. I miss Wesley."

"Have you heard from him?"

"Since four months ago, no. I get a message from time to time, and I hope he finds his way back to visit as he says he will."

He sipped Earl Grey, and stared at the image on the cover of the old book -- a woman in Victorian dress standing in front of an old manor. "It would be good to see him again. I hope he is enjoying his travels?"

"It's what he says. That he's learning and growing as a person. But I miss our Wes -- the kid he used to be. I know he won't come back and be that kid again but I sit and think about him sometimes."

"I know it will change if Deanna decides to stop being a counselor and follow a different path," Jean-Luc said. "You don't need to tell me."

Beverly laughed, tossing her hair back from her face -- she seemed at ease, which set him at ease. "Why do you think this has anything to do with that? You're starting to see ulterior motives where there are none, Jean-Luc."

"Sorry. It just sounded.... Never mind. So how long do you think you'll be at the starbase?"

"The engineer is saying another month. I'm talking around to find a couple of people who want to take some leave at the closest pleasure planet. Are you still taking Dee to Casperia?"

"On the holodeck, for now. At the end of this tour I intend to ask for leave for the crew, just go there. There are tracks you can ride for miles on horses."

"How is she healing?" Beverly asked. She planted her chin in her palm, leaning her elbow on the table.

"Very well. The soreness and stiffness seems resolved. Her hair will take a while but her attitude has been good."

Beverly's hand dropped and she seemed more serious. "Has she been talking to you about the experience?"

"Not really."

"Maybe you should try to talk to her about it," she said.

He thought about that, instead of dismissing it outright. "I think you're right."

Her eyebrows jumped. "You do?"

"She may be protecting me, because she knows how traumatizing it was for me to see her that way."

Beverly nodded, turning sympathetic. "Good insight."

"I'm doing my best. I don't want to make it more difficult than it already is."

She seemed a little confused by that, but let it pass. "I'm going to go now, and let you get back to it. I have a date with a masseuse. Tell Deanna to call me soon."

After the connection was severed, Jean-Luc stared at the Victorian lady on the cover of the book, and left it there on the desk. Data stood up as he came out of the ready room. "Mr. Data, you have the bridge," he said, heading for the lift.

Deanna was in their quarters, eyes closed, sitting cross-legged on the couch. Meditating, so he went to the bedroom in an attempt to avoid disturbing her. He had put on riding pants and a shirt and sat down to pull on boots when she joined him.

"You're going riding?" She was sad -- she wasn't cleared for riding, karate or even exercise in the gym.

"I didn't want to disrupt your meditation. I actually wanted to talk to you," he said. Dropping the boot on the floor, he waved her to him, and put his arm around her as she settled next to him. She was wearing some long, shapeless pale blue robe, her bare toes peeking out. Her hair was a mere inch long at this point, and without the wig she looked different. He missed her long curly hair more than he would have expected.

"What are we talking about?"

He looked at her face. She seemed fine -- she smiled, very much the serene woman he had worked with and fought alongside and spent many an hour preparing for some diplomatic mission. He thought about the times she had sat with him while he wanted to hide in his quarters, coaxing him to deal with emotional pain he would rather have ignored. The time he'd seen her disguised as a Romulan. Sitting in concerts with her at his side, listening raptly to whatever the ensemble was playing.

"How many times have you helped me with some terrible personal tragedy?"

Her smile dwindled. "I don't know, offhand. Why?"

"You have never lost any respect for me despite all of that. I learned that I could trust you to be my officer and my confidante no matter what I told you."

"You're confusing me, Jean."

"I'm trying to understand why you aren't talking to me about what happened."

She gaped at him for a few seconds. "You haven't asked."

"Oh... all right," he said, chuckling.

"I've also been worried about you. I've been in sickbay before, recovered from severe injuries before. Nothing that happened was unexpected. I knew from the moment the shuttle was fired upon that I would be injured or killed and it was a relief to wake up in sickbay." She reached across his lap to put her hand over his. "Why are you worried about asking me?"

"Perhaps I am not as confident about this as I thought," he said, trying to sort out a reason. 

"About us? About my recovery?"

"We agree on so many things. Your injuries haven't changed that, Deanna. I think... when I can tell you hesitate to talk to me about something, I hesitate to express my feelings to you, in those moments when I do feel some concern. I don't want to add to your anxiety my own transitory feelings."

She contemplated that with her usual sobriety. "You think that your feelings will convince me you aren't committed to me after all?"

"Well... when you put it like that...."

"Are you afraid of your own feelings perhaps? Of changing  _your_ mind, if you're so overwhelmed by emotions?"

"Oh," he blurted, jumping to his feet. He paced in his sock feet, came to a stop in front of her, and raised a finger as if to lecture. Dropped it. "Oh," he said quietly. "Maybe -- do you think that's what it is?"

Deanna nodded, her mouth twitching, and though she fought it she couldn't stop the smile. "Jean, I am not your counselor, and I am not going to change my mind about loving you because you sometimes feel frightened. I have been on the same starship with you for more than a decade and quite aware of your moods and how they can fluctuate. I promise that I will assign no importance to the occasional panicked moments you cause yourself by overthinking. You do the most overthinking about things that are the most important to you -- it's part of how I know you're serious about me, actually."

He placed his hands on his head, closed his eyes, and wondered why he wasn't coming to rational conclusions. "Of course."

"I've had the same moments of questioning, you know. But how can I question  _hajira_ \-- that does not happen unless both of us are committed, Jean-Luc. I won't walk away from it."

Jean-Luc paced back and forth for a few moments. "I need to know more about that. The computer doesn't have much information," he said, stopping in front of her again. She smiled brightly at him.

"Would you like to take a walk with me while we talk about that?"

"We can. Come along."

He put on shoes, instead of the riding boots. The holodecks were busy but they still had the lower decks. She took his arm as they left the lift on deck 23 and strolled down the corridor, so he knew there was no one around -- she would sense anyone and warn him.

"What did the computer say about it?" she asked. 

"The information that was given talked about several kinds of bonds," he said. "Something called _imzadi_ was also mentioned. It was all very general -- not unlike the information you find on Vulcan bonding, and I think that's as it should be, really. As intimate as such things can be. I was less inclined to do much research and simply explore the bond as it is for us, but now I think it might help me to know more."

"Betazoid bonds aren't really researched much, to my knowledge," she said slowly, looking at the floor. It caused him a little concern -- why would she be hesitant to talk about this? "And I know there are other Betazoid empaths out there, but there are so few of us that generalizations don't exist and no one's made a science out of studying us, either. The term _hajira_ is taken from a very old love poem, to describe a phenomenon that can occur between two people. Literally rendered, it means fire dancer."

"And this is something another Betazoid can detect? I was alarmed that Habar brought it up -- while on the one hand I understood Betazoid culture could be more open than mine, on the other, you've told me that most Betazoids respect the privacy of others."

"He saw what every Betazoid would see. Bonds are obvious to Betazoids. It's not considered private."

Jean-Luc slowed at a junction, and she let go his arm. They faced each other as he debated how to respond to that. "So it's possible to look at us and actually  _see_ it?"

"Not with the eyes, but yes. It's apparent to Betazoids."

"So when we do confront your mother she will see it immediately."

Deanna shrugged in obvious discomfort. "I'm afraid so."

"Then we should arrange to meet her privately, when we see her again." He sighed, as she seemed relieved by that. "She's not entirely unreasonable."

"No, but I know she can be frustrating to deal with when she's excited." Deanna turned left and he walked with her once more. "And she will be.  _Hajira_ is described as so many things are, with metaphors. Fire is I believe a metaphor that humans use for passion as well."

"It is. And I suspect from subjective experience that my experience has not differed much from the norm -- it does feel that way to me."

"It's not a bond in the Vulcan sense, tying us together telepathically. Even with telepaths, it's an emotional connection that forms of its own volition, without much real definition." Again, he noticed, she wasn't looking at him.

"Do Betazoids form bonds easily?"

That led to a few minutes of silent walking. "I think I'm not the one to ask," she said at last. "I've only experienced it twice."

He responded to her obvious tension by not asking the question about the other time. He thought he could guess, however, and that it answered other unasked questions.

Unexpectedly, she started to tell him. Her voice fairly vibrated with anxiety.

" _Imzadi_ is nothing like _hajira._ It doesn't manifest itself in the same way. It's more what humans refer to as soul mates. First love," she said without inflection.

He was certain she had to mean Will Riker. But it was neither here nor there, for him. All in the distant past. He knew, because she had told him, that they were engaged at one time long ago.

They walked on for a while, through two more junctions, turning right and left, working around the deck.

"I do enjoy our bond," he said with a happy smile.

She stopped walking. They stood silently for a period looking at each other again -- he thought about their bond, and about her, being happy with him. Finally, her lips twitched into a smile.

"I do too."

"If life were simpler, it would be all we needed, wouldn't it?"

She nodded, looking at the floor again.

"Please tell me?"

"I wish that I knew how to explain -- how it all fell apart," she exclaimed, shaking her head. "I know it would be easy to say I regret, but honestly I can't. I learned so much from the experience. But at the same time it -- " She shook her head again.

"I know," he said, with great feeling. "I understand how that feels."

Her eyes were filled with such pathos, when she looked at him. She stepped toward him, and he reached out to embrace her. She was warm and soft, and her hair smelled faintly of her perfume.

"You said you would follow your heart," he said at length. "So will I."

"There is no promise that it will be easy. Love wounds, and it heals."

Jean-Luc kissed her temple, closed his arms more tightly around her. "I know. But I believe in you. In us. Whatever comes."

"Yes," she sighed. "My fish."

"Are you hungry?"

"Let's go home."

Instead of pulling away, she kept her arm around him and walked with him toward the nearest turbolift. He thought she seemed to be in a lighter mood.

"We'll be fine," he said, as the lift doors opened.

 


	8. Chapter 8

Jean-Luc meandered through the gymnasium to the weight room at his usual time. Making up for being off schedule during the mission meant daily workouts. Deanna had returned to duty without restrictions six days after her injury, and things were back to normal.

The gym was busier than ever, and he found a small group leaving the weight room about the time he arrived, which was fine -- he preferred it that way, all to himself. As he reached the door, he heard a shout echo down the corridor, and stopped in his tracks. It was Deanna's voice, and he'd never heard her shout that way before. Curious, he followed the sound.

All the way at the end of the corridor there were two dojos, one on each side, and the one on the right was unoccupied. The one on the left had more than a dozen people in white karate uniforms, and as he peered in, three of them rushed one person. There was a flurry of limbs and yelling, and then two were flung aside within seconds. The third grappled with the smaller person and then somehow was flipped completely -- feet whirled up and around then the person was flat on their back on the mats. The defender turned, reaching up to gather long dark curls and twist her hair around to re-pin it as the rest of the class applauded. 

Jean-Luc leaned against the door frame and smiled, as Deanna settled into a ready stance, arms up, and another student rushed her, swinging a fist. She blocked and used the young man's momentum against him, planting a foot so his stride would lead to catching his leg and falling - she grabbed his arm and added a twist so he rolled and ended up flat on his back.

"Travers," she called out, pointing. "You and Fuentes. The rest of you pair up. Practice throws, back and forth." She cross the mats to him and smiled as she reached the door. "Something I can help you with?"

"I realized that I hadn't seen you teach before."

She tilted her head, grinning. "Would you like to join us?"

He waved both hands and backed out of the door. "I'll just be in the weight room. Thank you." He pointed, shuffled backward, and strode off for the weight room. Her laughter echoed after him.

He was in the middle of his first set when he heard footfalls on the floor, approaching his machine. 

"Good afternoon, sir."

Pausing, letting the bar settle across his chest, he turned his head slightly. Greenman was setting up two machines from him.  "Good afternoon, Ensign."

He continued, and as she started her workout and proceeded in silence he relaxed back into his routine rather than worry about her presence. No one else was in the room, as usual. Their breathing echoed in the silent, empty space, and the hiss and occasional clank of the weight machines. He finished first, sat up and mopped his brow and neck with the towel, and after a brief rest stood and headed for the door.

"Sir."

When he turned back, Greenman was sitting up, astride her machine, her short hair darkened by sweat and her face flushed. But she had a determined expression.

"If you don't mind... I have a question about the Borg." Her tone of voice was all over the place. 

"What about them?"

"Do you think it is possible to rescue someone from the Borg?"

It froze him in place, for the span of a dozen heartbeats. Not the typical question he tended to get from young officers. "Is there a reason that you might wish to do so?"

Greenman ducked her head, averting her wide brown eyes, and appeared to be in pain. "My father was at Wolf 359."

"Ah," he said, taking a few steps toward her. "Natalia."

Her eyes swept up at the use of her name instead of rank. Stunned.

"It is possible, of course. But less so than it was at the time -- he could be anywhere by now, and the Collective is more vast than you know. I'm sorry, Natalia, but I don't believe that is a realistic goal to have."

She turned away. "Thank you, sir," she blurted, the words vibrating with tears. 

He touched her shoulder carefully, and retreated to the door. And unexpectedly Deanna was there -- she gazed into his eyes with surprising emotion in hers, and he stepped aside. She sidled into the weight room and went to stand over the ensign, speaking in low tones. Then sat on the end of the bench and put a hand on Greenman's arm, leaning in, as the ensign cried into her towel.

Later, after he had showered, put on civilian clothes, and started to read a book, Deanna came home. Instead of going to change out of the sweaty gi, she peeled off the top, exposing the skin-tight white sports bra she wore under it, and dropped it on the end of the couch before sitting down to regard him with sober eyes.

"Is she all right?" he asked.

"She's fine, but hurting, but that isn't anything new as you can guess," Deanna said. "I've been recommending that she not approach you. I'm sorry."

"It's certainly less bothersome from her than it is from the admirals -- questions about the Borg are not traumatizing any more," he said, snapping shut the collection of Gibran's poetry. "I found out something about our Ensign Greenman that she has not told me before."

Deanna frowned a little. "Really?"

"She's the niece of a good friend of mine, Walker Keel."

She nodded. "I was not aware of that. Isn't Walker deceased?"

"Yes, you remember the destruction of the  _Horatio_ and our trip to Earth, I believe?"

"And talking to you after, to help you process the loss."

"I'm going to talk to her about it. Unless you believe I shouldn't?"

Deanna smiled at that. "I think you should. She looks up to you. It would probably help her."

"Good. Now, what would help you?"

"Dinner," she said, rising to her feet. "But I'm taking a shower first."

"Let's have dinner in Paris," he said. "I have a reservation." Holodeck five was as close to Paris as they could get for a long time, but it would serve.

"That sounds lovely. I'll find something to wear." 

"How are you feeling?" He hadn't asked in a couple of days, instead settling into a relaxed schedule with her -- vacillating between duty and leisure activities on their usual schedule, and not really discussing more serious subjects. He had found that he worried less and less as she showed more and more energy, and returned to her exercise regimen without apparent difficulty.

"I feel physically fine. I've been restless but nothing specific has been bothering me -- there is some tension aboard about being on the Neutral Zone and I may be picking that up."

"Good. Then we should have a relaxing evening in Paris," he said, waving the book of poetry.

She smiled, her eyes merry, and he watched her go in the bedroom to change. A thought of the next mission after their patrol made him wonder how long this period of ease would last -- but he sighed, accepted yet again the potential for disaster that came with the job, and let it go for now, despite the memory of her in sickbay with serious injuries. 

"Masochist," he muttered to himself. 


End file.
